Legacy - The 75th Hunger Games SYOT
by A M4D TE4-P4RTY
Summary: Both Katniss & Peeta survived the 74th Hunger Games, with no hint of rebellion. President Snow had no cause to change the Quarter Quell. Instead, the tributes from each district must be family members... *SYOT closed*, includes cannon characters as mentors, unexpected plot twists because it is a Quarter Quell... xx
1. Introduction and Tribute Form

All across Panem people are in their homes, their eyes fixed on their televisions, waiting. Today the third Quarter Quell will be announced. Today they will find out what horror the Capitol has in store for their children.

On the screen the anthem begins to play and President Snow can be seen. He moves across the stage to stand behind a podium, followed by a figure dressed in white who carries a wooden box. The box is plain and unremarkable, but all eyes watch it with dread.

Then, President Snow is speaking and the whole of Panem is hanging on his every word, waiting for him to tell them what to expect from this Quarter Quell. He starts with a reminder of the Dark Days and how the Hunger Games were created.

People fidget nervously. People with no children eligible for the Hunger Games breathe a sigh of relief, parents glance at their children, while trying to pretend that they are not scared, older siblings take the hands of their young brothers and sisters.

President Snow continues his speech, aware of what this means to the people in the districts, revelling in his power over them. He talks about the Quarter Quells and what they meant for the rebels. The first Quarter Quell was a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choices, the district chose their own tributes. The second Quarter Quell was a reminder that for every Capitol citizen two rebels died, twice the amount of tributes.

There is a collective intake of breath across the whole of Panem. People hold their loved ones close and their eyes turn back to look at the wooden box.

"And now we honour our third Quarter Quell," President Snow announces in a triumphant voice and the boy in white steps forward with the wooden box. The lid opens and President Snow draws out one of the many envelopes within. The number 75 is written on it in a neat, curling script. The president breaks the seal on the envelop and pulls out a piece of paper.

Everyone watching holds their breath, the Capitol citizens in anticipation, the District citizens in fear.

"On the seventy-fifth anniversary, to show that even united the rebels could never stand against the Capitol, each District must provide their two tributes from the same family."

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><p><span><strong>Rules:<strong>

1. Be original!

2. You can create as many tributes as you want. (Within reason, obviously...)

3. Your OCs can't be related to cannon characters.

4. Try not to make both your tributes from the same district.

5. If someone else has already chosen the other tribute from the district you want, you may have to compromise and give your tribute the surname they have chosen for theirs (as they are supposed to be related). Obviously, if they are cousins, for example, they can have different surnames...

6. If the other tribute for a district is already taken, don't bother making up a family. We will just go with the one the first person chose.

Additionally, (this is not a rule, obviously) all this will be summed up again in our forum if you need to check on characters etc. at any point when reading the story. You can get to the forum via our profile page.

**Tribute Form:**

**Full name**: (Try to make them sound like they could actually be in the Hunger Games. There are some really good suggestion in Saltey's "A guide to naming your tributes" if you can't think of anything...)

**Age:**

**Gender:**

**District:** (We can't guarantee you will get the District you want. If someone else gets it, we will PM you and ask for your second choice District.)

**Appearance:** (Please give plenty of detail, not just a hair colour...)

**Personality:** (Try and make your character interesting and unique, but realistic at the same time. The chances of them surviving are higher, if they have an interesting personality.)

**Likes & Dislikes:** (Relevant stuff. Not 'dislikes Brussels sprouts'.)

**Strengths:** (3-5 Strengths should do.)

**Weaknesses:** (3-5 Weaknesses should do.)

**History:** (Please make this fairly detailed.)

**Family:** (Names, ages, your tributes feelings towards them, etc. This does not include the other tribute!)

**Friends:** (Names, ages, your tributes feelings towards them, etc.)

**Income:** (rich/average/poor)

**Reaped or Volunteered:**

**Reaction or Reason:**

**Chariot Costume: **(Optional. You don't _have _to pick one, you can if you want.)

**Interview Outfit:** (Optional. You don't _have _to pick one, you can if you want.)

**Relationship to District ****P****artner: **(Siblings, parents, cousins, etc. If one tribute is already taken for a certain district, we will make a note next to their name what relationship their district partner must have to them, based on what the person who submitted the first tribute for that district wants.)

**Reaction to/Relationship with other Tributes: **(Tries to make friends with them, ignores them, etc.)

**Reaction to/Relationship with Mentors: **(Do they like/hate their mentor?)

**Private Training:** (How your character feels, what weapon they use and so forth)

**Training Score:** (Try to genuinely assess how your character might have done. E.g. don't give a tiny, 12-year-old girl from district 12 a score of 12... It's just not realistic.)

**Strategy during the bloodbath:**

**Strategy during the games:**

**Alliances?:**

**Weapon of Choice:**

**Mentors:**

(As this story is set in an AU 75th Hunger Games, some of the cannon characters will appear in it as mentors. They may not _all_ be mentioned, but they might be. If they are relevant to the story.)

**District 1 – **Cashmere & Gloss

**District 2 – **Enobaria & Brutus

**District 3 – **Wiress & Beetee

**District 4 – **Mags & Finnick

**District 5 – **No cannon characters, so these will be OCs.

**District 6 – **No cannon characters, so these will be OCs.

**District 7 – **Johanna & Blight

**District 8 – **Cecelia & Woof

**District 9 – **No cannon characters, so these will be OCs.

**District 10 – **No cannon characters, so these will be OCs.

**District 11 – **Seeder & Chaff

**District 12 – **Katniss & Peeta


	2. Tribute List

**Tributes:**

**District 1 - Luxury  
><strong>

Male - Sterling Sunstone (16) [ UltimateMaxmericaShipper ]

Female - Velvet Sunstone (16) [ xToffifee ]

**District 2 - Masonry  
><strong>

Male - Macro Flint (18) [ xToffifee ]

Female - Victory Kiera Flint (13) [ UltimateMaxmericaShipper ]

**District 3 - Technology  
><strong>

Male - Router Analog (12) [ Wandering princess ]

Female - Gigabyte Codec (18) [ Wandering princess ]

**District 4 - Fishing****  
><strong>

Male - Brooks Maria (18) [ publicfigure ]

Female - Kailani Mizu (16) [ xSakura-Blossomsx ]

**District 5 - Power  
><strong>

Male - Jason Thesik (17) [ grimbutnotalways ]

Female - Cordinia Foster (16) [ hollowman96 ]

**District 6 - Transportation**

Male - Maverick Nash (14) [ david12341 ]

Female - Alay Yennings (15) [ Kristykk11 ]

**District 7 - Lumber **

Male - Jack Aspen Hollister (18) [ aprilgirl01 ]

Female - Lilac Brooke Hollister (16) [ UltimateMaxmericaShipper ]

**District 8 - Textiles  
><strong>

Male - Patch Polka (16) [ Jms2 ]

Female - Lacy Polka (18) [ Jms2 ]

**District 9 - Grain  
><strong>

Male - Fox Harvest Hensley (12) [ UltimateMaxmericaShipper ]

Female - Chrysanthemum Rice (15) [ youngpatriot ]

**District 10 - Livestock  
><strong>

Male - Scathe Taron (17) [ grimbutnotalways ]

Female - Ariya Taron (14) [ Mystical Pine Forest ]

**District 11 - Agriculture**

Male - Barly Howard (18) [ rueeverdeen ]

Female - Heather Wheatly (13) [ UltimateMaxmericaShipper ]

**District 12 - Mining**

Male - Lance Cade (18) [ grimbutnotalways ]

Female - Anya Cade (12) [ Wincestcher ]


	3. The Control Room

**Author's Note: Hi & thanks for reading. Really this is more of an introductory chapter, the story will get started properly with the reapings when we have enough tributes... Hope you enjoy the chapter & thanks to everyone who has submitted a tribute so far. They are all brilliant and really varied!**

**(P.S. There are still plenty of tributes left, if anyone feels like submitting some...)  
><strong>

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><p>In the Control Room the preparations for the Quarter Quell are well under way. It is a circular room, sterile and brightly lit. Desks line the walls and there is a person, dressed uniformly in white and wearing a headset, sat at each desk. Most of them are either talking into these headsets or working on something on their screens. A few people are stood in the middle of the room beside a hologram of this year's arena. Occasionally they point to something and make notes on the clipboards they are holding.<p>

A door, cunningly concealed in one of the smooth walls, opens and a tall, slim man steps through. He is pale with dark hair and piercing grey-blue eyes. Slowly he surveys the room around him with a satisfied air, a small smile curling his lips.

"Sir," a young woman jumps to her feet, "There has been a problem with the camera crew for District 6, Sir. Their equipment has been malfunctioning. Should I send a replacement team?"

The man briefly turns to look at her. "This should have been dealt with straight away. You hardly need me to tell you to send them more equipment, do you?", he asks her coldly, his attention already on something else.

Looking distinctly uncomfortable the woman sits down again and begins to talk rapidly into her headset.

Slowly the newcomer makes his way into the middle of the room, to study the model of the arena. His intelligent gaze takes in even the smallest detail, comparing them to his plans and analysing them for ways to improve. "Are the mutts ready?", he asks suddenly, making the people with clipboards jump.

A man with sandy hair and glasses hurries over. "Yes, Sir, all ready. I have the details here if you want to have a look." He holds out his clipboard, but the other man waves him away dismissively.

"What about the cameras? Have they all been set up?", he asks, pacing around the hologram to study it from every angle.

The man with sandy hair checks his clipboard again. "A team is working on that now, Sir. It will be finished by the end of the day. Also, the traps you wanted have all been installed and the animals you asked for are already in the arena."

"Very good, everything seems to be on schedule," the other man praises, "Only the finishing touches left to organise." He looks around the room. "Come on, people!", he calls out suddenly, "This is a very special year! Let's make this the best Hunger Games yet!"


	4. District 1 Reaping

**Author's note: Firstly, thanks to UltimateMaxmericaShipper for the amazing cover pic! It's brilliant! :) xx**

**Secondly, thanks to everyone who has submitted a tribute. They're all great. (There are still some tributes left if anyone feels like submitting them... :D No pressure...)**

**Thirdly, thanks to xToffifee and UltimateMaxmericaShipper for submitting Velvet and Sterling, respectively.**

**To the guests who submitted tributes: We were going to accept them but we had a couple of questions and obviously couldn't get in touch with you to ask them, so we couldn't use them. Really sorry about that.**

**Oh, and hope you enjoy the chapter. Feedback/constructive criticism/etc. is welcome. xx**

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><p>It is the morning of the reapings. Across Panem, as people prepare themselves, screens flicker into life. The anthem booms out across the country. In the Capitol people gather in the streets to watch the big screens. The atmosphere is festive as they wait for the long-expected Quarter Quell to begin.<p>

In the districts people are subdued and fearful. They make their way slowly and reluctantly to the reapings. Nobody is watching the screens. They would rather not think about what is about to happen.

The anthem stops and a studio appears. Caesar Flickerman is sat in a chair, beaming at the camera. This year his hair is a poisonous green and he is dressed in a shiny, red suit. "Welcome, welcome!", he exclaims and jumps to his feet, "Today is the day we have all been waiting for, the reapings for the 75th Hunger Games!"

In the Capitol the people cheer and clap, but in the districts there is no applause, only a sullen silence.

"Today, for the first time ever," Caesar continues in a dramatic voice, "we will witness a reaping where the tributes are taken from the same families. It's so exciting! What will the tributes be like this year? Not long left before we find out."

He paces across his studio to stand beside a large screen on one wall. "Look here, we can already see the people waiting." The camera focusses on a shot of people standing in the square in District 1. They look far from excited, but even that fails to dampen Caesar's mood. "Isn't it just buzzing!", he enthuses, "The first reaping is about to begin!"

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><p><strong>Velvet Sunstone, District One<strong>

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><p>As soon as I open my eyes I remember what day it is. Reaping day. The third Quarter Quell. I have been excited about this for years, knowing I would be the right age to volunteer when it came about but when the news was announced I was so disappointed. It's one thing killing virtual strangers, it's another thing altogether killing your family.<p>

I don't want to think about it any more, so I quickly clamber out of bed and scrub myself off in the small bath that someone, probably my mother, has filled for me. Then I pull on to short green dress I bought specially for the occasion and twist my long, chocolate-brown hair into two braids. Looking at myself in the mirror I see a striking girl, slim, about average height with a scruffy fringe and big, dark brown eyes. Personally I would rather be wearing my training clothes, but that's just not possible.

I hurry downstairs and glance around the kitchen. My brother should be around somewhere, but I can't see him. He doesn't think much of our parents and mostly avoids them, so I guess he's probably already heading to the square with his friends.

I walk confidently over to my little sister who is snivelling quietly into her food and give her a brief smile. Satin is only 13 and her name is only in there twice, so I don't know what she has to be nervous about. Anyway, even this year there might still be volunteers. The chances of her being picked are so slim, they're not really worth bothering with. It's just a normal reaping.

The only new thing is that here in District 1 we're not used to worrying about whether our names will be chosen or not. Normally, even if they are, someone else will volunteer so there isn't really much to be afraid of. This year no one is sure if there will be any volunteers or not. No one wants to have to kill their family.

I find myself listing all the people who could be chosen if I were to be reaped. The list is pretty short, basically only my twin brother Sterling and I think maybe a second cousin or two, who I don't even really know.

There are the lucky ones who don't have any relatives, like my friend Citrine. Her only brother died in a training accident years ago and both her parents were only-children, so she doesn't have any cousins. I don't know, but I assume she just isn't eligible for reaping this year.

Normally I wouldn't mind the reapings, in fact I would be looking forward to them. I have been trained for the Games for as long as I can remember and I have always planned to volunteer, but this year I really don't want to be chosen. I want to volunteer next year without having to worry about killing Sterling. Not that I wouldn't, if that's what I had to do to survive, but I would rather not.

I push the thought out of my head and get up. It is time to go and sign in and I don't want to be late. Secretly, I'm glad that here in District 1 we get to go first. It gets the reapings over and done with.

Satin is still sat at the table, pushing her food around and crying. Impatiently I catch her hand and pull her to her feet. "It's time to go," I tell her.

She doesn't respond and I have to half-carry her out of the house. All around us people are heading towards the square and we join the crowd, Satin still doing her best to drag her feet and make my life as difficult as possible. Angrily, I pick her up and carry her. It's probably quicker than trying to reason with her.

As we enter the square and wait to sign in I look around. We must be fairly late as it is already packed with people. I can't see our parents anywhere, but I do spot Sterling standing with his best friend Asher and a couple of other kids I vaguely recognise from school. Sterling is scowling at the stage and has his hands rammed angrily into his jacket pockets. He hasn't even made an effort to dress properly for the reaping.

Actually, in general people seem to have made less of an effort this year, I notice. Most people are dressed in their normal clothes, not the normal elaborate reaping outfits, and the decorations around the square look a bit half-hearted. I'm pretty sure most of them are just the decorations from last year that have been dusted off a bit. Clearly I'm not the only one who is less than enthusiastic about this Quarter Quell.

I leave Satin stood at the back of the square and push my way over to the other girls my age. I can't find Citrine but there are a couple of girls I have spoken to a few times in training so I stand by them and peer over at the boys. My line of vision is blocked so I can't see my brother any more.

At the front of the square the mayor is making his way onto the stage followed by a silly, fluttery little woman I assume to be the new District 1 escort and this year's mentors, Gloss and his sister Cashmere. They won back to back Games when I was about 5 and have been Capitol favourites ever since. Every year they show a ridiculous amount of interviews with them, basically every time the career pack gets any screen time.

The mayor begins his speech and I zone out. We've all heard this speech a hundred times before and all anyone is really interested in is who will represent District 1 in the Hunger Games. Vaguely, I wonder if the people in the Capitol have to watch the same speech 12 times if they watch the reapings for every district.

On the stage, the little woman is tottering to the front. She is so tiny, I briefly wonder that she isn't blown away by the wind. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever _in your favour!", she twitters brightly and I feel the distinct urge to stab her eyes out with the nearest sharp object. "Well, let's get started then. Ladies first!"

She crosses over to the huge glass ball and rummages around for a second, trying to create some suspense, before coming up with a small slip of paper. She unfolds it and for the first time ever at a reaping I begin to feel sick with nerves. Now I understand what the kids in the poorer districts must feel like on reaping day.

There is a brief silence and then she reads out in her high, girly voice: "Velvet Sunstone."

For a second the world around me seems to stop and I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. Then my training kicks in. I beam delightedly at the people around me and march confidently towards the stage where the escort it beaconing to me. Behind her I can see Cashmere and Gloss looking at me sympathetically, everyone else is acting like I have just won some sort of prize. I suppose in a way I have. I just wish it had been any other year.

"Are there any volunteers?", the escort asks. I scan the crowd but no one steps forward. Not really a big shock. The tiny woman next to me seems taken aback though and asks again. Still no one.

My eyes find Sterling in the crowd and I shrug apologetically. He knows me well enough to know what I'm trying to say. It's too bad but I will do whatever it takes to make it out of the arena alive again. Being my brother won't stop me killing him if I absolutely have to.

Now the escort is consulting a small, hand-held computer screen. "That means that the male tribute for District 1 is..." She pauses briefly. "Sterling Sunstone."

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><p>In his luxurious studio Caesar leans forward in his chair as the camera focusses on him again. "We have our first tributes!", he announces triumphantly, "Brother and sister, Sterling and Velvet from District 1. How exciting! This looks promising, doesn't it?"<p>

On a large screen behind him a picture of Sterling and Velvet appears. They are stood side by side on the stage. Even though he has blond hair and hers is dark, they look like siblings. They have the same brown eyes, striking features and toned physiques.

"Apparently," Caesar continues, "they are twins. Our first ever set of twins in the Hunger Games! It just shows what a special year this is going to be." He claps his hands with delight and the camera zooms in to get a closeup of him.

* * *

><p><strong>Sterling Sunstone, District One<strong>

* * *

><p>Everything feels strangely unreal, like it's happening to somebody else. I am standing on a stage, with the whole of District 1 watching me, while the major reads out the Treaty of Treason. I have seen loads of other kids stood up here, but I never imagined that one day it would be me. I am in the Hunger Games. The thought disgusts me. I never wanted to be one of those people who trains for years just to be able to butcher some poor twelve-year-olds. Clenching my fists in my pockets I have to work hard to keep my charming smile in place.<p>

While the major is talking the escort for District 1 , whose name I have already forgotten, keeps glancing over at me. As I catch her eye she smiles in what is meant to be an alluring way. I grin back at her and wink. Immediately she blushes bright red and looks away. At least that seems to have stopped her watching me.

The major comes to the end of the Treaty and instructs me to shake hands with Velvet. Then we are being ushered into the Justice Building and the door slams shut behind us.

I follow two peacekeepers up a flight of stairs and into an elegantly furnished room. They leave me on my own to say goodbye to my family and friends. I don't actually expect my parents to show up, but it would be nice to see Satin and my friends.

As I am thinking this the door opens and my little sister, Satin, burst in. She sprints across the room and throws herself into my arms. Sobs are making her whole body shake and she keeps drying her eyes on the sleeve of her blouse.

Comfortingly I stroke her hair until she has calmed down. "Cheer up, little one. This means you get the best bedroom in the house all to yourself," I joke and am rewarded with a watery smile. Satin has been complaining about having to share a room with Velvet for years, so this thought cheers her up a little. My sister can be quite self-centered at times. Briefly the thought occurs to me that she may possibly be being dramatic. She never normally cries like this.

"Be careful," she tells me as the peacekeepers open the door again to usher her out. I nod and then she is gone.

The room is large and perfectly square, paneled with dark wood and furnished in a rich red. One of the ornaments catches my eye. As there seems to be nothing else for me to do I wander over and pick it up. It is made out of diamond and shaped like some kind of animal, decorated with flashy gold. For some reason it reminds me of my parents. Hastily I drop it back onto the table.

Just then the door opens again and my three friends pile into the room, Lilliana leading the way. As she reaches me she clutches my hand and looks up at me with big, sad eyes. I have to resist the urge to sigh. Lily has had a crush on me since the day we met and just won't seem to understand that I don't see her in the same way. I was expecting this to be slightly awkward. Saying goodbye to somebody who thinks they are in love with you is never going to be easy.

"How are you doing?", my friend Asher asks me. He gives me a sympathetic, regretful look that's almost worse than Lily's puppy-eyes.

I grin at them and try to look more confident than I feel. "Great. I think I made a good impression, don't you? I don't want to be one of those tributes that nobody remembers or even worse the ones who cry."

Hazel snorts with laughter. "Crying isn't really your style. You're more the suffering-in-silence type," she sniggers, "But you could go for crying as an angle to get sponsors. I'm sure they'd love that." She tries out a few comical sad faces and them collapses into a chair, shaking with mirth.

Ash frowns at her disapprovingly, but I appreciate her lightening the mood. I can't stand everybody acting as though I've died. It's just too depressing. "Lighten up, Ash." I nudge him with an elbow. "Everything's going to be fine. I have trained for this you know, I'm not totally useless."

"Of course you're not," Lily jumps in loyally and throws an angry glance at Ash as if this was all somehow his fault.

Behind me Hazel has her feet up on a polished coffee table and seems to have made herself comfortable. "What are you going to do about Velvet?", she asks me conversationally, "This isn't just any old Hunger Games, you know. It's a Quarter Quell. Or had you forgotten?" Shaking my head I balance on the arm of her chair. "So are you going to kill her?", Hazel continues, "It would probably be easy. Gain her trust and then..." She mimes stabbing something.

Looking scandalised Lily grabs my hand again. "Of course Sterling would never do that, would you?", she exclaims, outraged, "What sort of monster do you take him for?"

Hazel just shrugs and looks at me. "And?", she asks.

Slowly I shake my head. "I'm not going to kill my own sister. If I can't win then I want her to." Just the idea of being faced with a situation where I would have to choose between my own life and my sister's seems somehow wrong to me. To avoid any more questions I look down at my hands.

"I guess this is goodbye then," Ash says after a minute, "Do your best and we'll hopefully see you later." He doesn't add that they probably won't, but I can tell he's thinking it.

Confidently I clap him on the shoulder. "Course you will." I turn to the two girls. "Bye then. Take care of yourselves, won't you?"

They both nod and a peacekeeper escorts them from the room, Lily in tears and Ash trying to comfort her. In the doorway Hazel stops and looks back at me. "You can do it, you know. You just have to believe you can," and with that she is gone.

A peacekeeper appears in the space she has just vacated and beckons to me to follow him. "Come with me, please. It's time to go to the train."

I get to my feet. This is it, I'm on my way to the Capitol. The Hunger Games have started.


	5. District 2 Reaping

**Author's Note: 1. Thank you so much UltimateMaxmericaShipper for the new cover pic. It's amazing! :)**

**2. And thanks again to UltimateMaxmericaShipper and xToffifee for Victory and for Macro.**

**3. Thanks for all the reviews :) Your feedback is really appreciated!**

**4. There are still tributes left if anyone wants to submit them... D6 male, D9 male & D10 male I think...**

**5. And finally, if anyone who has reserved a tribute could give us an idea of when they will be submitted by that would be great :)**

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><p>The Control Room is filled with an excited buzz of activity. Gamemakers sit at their stations working to edit the footage from the four different cameras in District 1. As the reapings are all televised live they have only seconds to decide when to change angle or when it might be a good time to put in a close-up.<p>

One, a young man, is clearly struggling. Already he has accidentally put in a close-up of the tributes instead of the major. His hands are visibly shaking and he has sweat running down his face.

Stood behind him the head Gamemaker is scowling and tapping his foot impatiently. For the Quarter Quell everything should be perfect, nothing should go wrong. The whole of Panem is watching.

Again the young man chooses the wrong camera and the whole of Panem sees an embarrassing shot of the escort for District1 yawning as the major concludes the Treaty of Treason.

"Up!", the head Gamemaker snaps angrily, "Get out!" He points to the door. His face is set in a mask of fury as the young man stumbles to his feet and practically runs from the room. "You," he points at the woman who is working at the next desk, "Come here and do this!"

Obediently she gets up and changes seats. The reaping is concluded with no further mishaps and Caesar appears on screen to give a brief summary of what's happened so far, before the next reaping.

The head Gamemaker breathes a sigh of relief. It was only a small snag, everything is running smoothly again. Time to move on to District 2.

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><p><strong>Victory Flint, District Two<strong>

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><p>I mean, what's the point of reaping day if you're not excited, right? It's a Quarter Quell, for heck's sake. Why does no one seem to get it?<p>

Honestly, is it unreasonable to want to get up early and get in some training before the reaping? No. Would anyone get up for me? No. Seriously, why am I surrounded by such unintelligent people? Most of all my idiot brother, Macro. Mum was about to agree to get up when I wanted and make my breakfast and iron my clothes but oh no, he has to come blundering in telling her not to because I'm being a brat. ME, A BRAT?! How dare he! What does he expect me to do, make my own food?

I don't know why he bothers, our parents like me more than him anyway. Seriously, all I had to do was pretend to burst into tears and he got yelled at for picking on me and Mum got up when I wanted anyway. So there, Macro!

But it's not just him, it's my idiot trainer, Appius. He's all like: 'No, I can't possibly get up that early. I'm busy. I do have other things to do besides train you.' Like, yeah right. Without me, he would be nothing. Half the kids in my class only go to him for training because I do. He'd probably be on the streets begging in like a week if I decided to get a different trainer.

Anyway, he's so stupid all I had to do was look up at him with tears in my eyes and do a speech about how I was so nervous about the reaping and he was the only one who could help me and he couldn't possibly let me possibly go to my death in the Games without helping me. What if I... tremble and let a tear run down my cheek... died and it was all because I missed out on a training session?

He actually believed all that rubbish! He even bought me some candy to make up for upsetting me. I think I actually managed to make him feel bad for abandoning a poor thirteen-year-old girl to her death. As if I would die in the Games! The other tributes wouldn't stand a chance. I'm smarter than them, prettier than them, better at fighting, have better training... Oh, and did I mention: I'm smarter than them?

Not that I'll be reaped anyway. No such luck. Out of all the kids here in Two the chances of me getting picked are minute. And they won't let me volunteer. I'm too young, I should wait a few years and reach my full potential... What do they know? It won't be a Quarter Quell in a few years, will it?

My thoughts are interrupted by my arrival at the training centre. It's five o'clock in the morning and the doors are all locked so I sneak round the back and steal the spare key. It's on a nail just inside the door and my hands are just small enough to fit through the window and grab it. I have to contort my arm painfully but I just manage to get it and fit it into the lock.

Except, when I try and push the key into the lock the door swings open. I can't believe it! Furious, I shove the door open and stomp inside. It's my stupid trainer, it must be. First, he pretends he doesn't have time to train me, then he sneaks in here when he knows I wanted to train and works with the other kids. How dare he?! I'll make sure he gets what's coming to him: a sudden change of career from trainer to unemployed. Dad can get him fired in no time. I doubt I'll even have to cry, he'll be so disgusted. It's not like this guy doesn't take enough of our money. Seriously, what does he think we pay him for? To do whatever he wants?

I bang into the gym, ignoring the 'No outdoor shoes' sign, deliberately leaving muddy footprints all across the obstacle course. "Where are you?", I yell at the top of my voice. "Appius, I know you're in here! Get over here now!" I wonder whether I should stamp my foot, but I figure that's taking it a bit too far.

No one comes over. Seriously, is he actually too much of a coward to face a thirteen-year-old girl? I storm past the boxing ring and the sword-fighting station and head over to the archery range. He's not there either. I am really starting to feel annoyed now. What does he think he's doing making fun of me like this? Does he have any idea who I am?

Behind me I hear a noise like someone walking very quietly on the balls of their feet. I whip around, grabbing a knife off a nearby stand. I don't actually _need _a weapon but I look good whipping round holding one. It makes me look dangerous and beautiful at the same time. I kind of wish I had a mirror to see the full effect.

What I see almost makes me drop the knife in shock. My stupid brother is leaning on a rack of crossbows smirking dryly. How can that be? He was asleep when I left the house, I checked. "Hey, _Vicky,_" he says.

I grind my teeth. He knows I hate it when people call me Vicky, that's why he's doing it. "What d'you want?", I snarl at him.

He raises his hands in mock surrender. "Me? I don't want anything. You're the one who disturbed me when I was training."

"Training?", I scoff. "Don't make me laugh. You've never done any proper training in your life." Really, I just say this to annoy him. He is so hard-working and focused that he hates it when people imply he isn't trying as hard as he could be. He spends all his time either working or training. It's pathetic really.

Macro just shrugs and turns away but I can tell that he's annoyed. That's the other thing about my _darling_ brother – he has a terrible temper when people wind him up. "Well, if that's all, I'll be getting on with what I was doing."

Seriously, does he really think he's getting off that lightly? "Where's Appius?", I demand.

"How should I know? It's not my job to keep track of your trainer for you." Macro doesn't even bother to turn around.

"At least I actually get a trainer, unlike some people!" I can tell that one hit home. His shoulders stiffen and he stops walking. It's always been rather a sore spot with Macro that our parents got me a personal trainer and not him. Not meaning to leapt to conclusions, but that clearly means they would care more about me than him if I were to be in the Hunger Games – something I point out to him frequently. Clearly my survival means more to them than his.

I can actually see the effort it's costing him to stop himself from hitting me. I can't resist adding: "Reaping day today. Planning on volunteering?" I arrange my face into the most innocent smile possible and raise a casual eyebrow at him.

He turns round slowly and glares at me. "No."

My face is the picture of polite interest. "Really? Why's that?", I ask sweetly.

"I thought you were trying to find your trainer and get in some last minute practice," he sneers, his voice cutting. "You'll need it if you're reaped."

Despite the fact I know he's just trying to change the subject and wind me up, I can't help snapping back: "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that clearly our parents think you _need _a trainer," Macro points out, "Maybe you're not as good as you think you are and you're opinion of yourself is far too high. You think the world revolves around you, but really, you're just a silly, self-centered, spoilt little brat."

I feel tears springing to my eyes. "You're lying!", I scream angrily at him. "That's not true! I get a trainer because I'm better than you and because they care about me more!" I fling the knife away and it clatters along the floor and comes to rest against Macro's shoe. I wish it had hit him in the leg. Why is he always so horrible to me? Doesn't he know how much better than him I am? How dare he talk to me like this!

Macro just bends down, picks up the knife and replaces it on his stand. Then he turns and walks away back towards the sword-fighting station.

"Our parents have never loved you! They wouldn't care if you died! In fact, they probably hope you do so that we're finally rid of you!", I yell after him. He doesn't even turn round. I can feel rage boiling in the pit of my stomach. "I hope you're reaped and get killed horribly, just like your stupid friend last year!"

He still doesn't look round.

I storm out of the training centre in a fury. Honestly, I can't believe fate dumped me with such a loser for a brother. My one small shred of comfort is that we don't look even vaguely related. Sometimes when I was younger I actually used to pretend he wasn't my real brother. I'm about 5'6, graceful, willowy with perfect creamy, pale skin, dainty features, aqua eyes and stunning red hair, of which I've had the good taste to dye a streak at the front turquoise, which is the latest fashion craze here in Two. He doesn't even care about his appearance. He's short and stocky with olive skin, brown eyes and stupid curly black hair. And that ridiculous scar across his left cheek. Apparently he got it in training because he wasn't paying attention and it bled loads. I wish I'd been there to see it.

I am so angry, I run home and fling myself onto my bed. I can hear my mother calling me and consider bursting into tears to get Macro into trouble again, but I abandon the thought and ignore her. He probably won't be home until after the reaping and then it'll be too late.

Furiously, I punch my pillow and glare out of the window. If only there was something I could do to get back at him for being so horrible to me. I hate him.

* * *

><p>The square is full of people in their best clothes, waiting for the reaping. District 2 is perfect from a television perspective as the people are better dressed then the poorer districts and they even look excited about the Games. There are not even any snivelling parents to spoil to show.<p>

Pleased with himself the head Gamemaker leans back in his chair to get a better look at the screen in front of him. They are currently showing a shot of the square and the Justice Building. It looks very effective as it manages to create a busy, festive atmosphere.

The head Gamemaker gets to his feet. "Give me some close-ups of the kids. The viewers in the Capitol will love that."

Instantly the camera focusses on a little blonde boy who is chewing his lip nervously. He glances around as if trying to find a way to escape.

"Not him!", the head Gamemaker snaps, irritated, "Try her. She looks excited" He points to a girl stood with the younger children.

Again the camera zooms in. The girl is taller than the children around her, but slim and willowy. She will go down well with the people in the Capitol as she has clearly made an effort with her appearance. She is wearing make-up and has a turquoise streak in the front of her hair. Also she looks like she is positively bouncing with excitement.

"Very good," the head Gamemaker praises, "Stay on her for another twenty seconds and then go to the doors of the Justice Building. The reaping is about to begin."

* * *

><p><strong>Macro Flint, District Two<strong>

* * *

><p>By the time I arrive at the square it is already crowded with people. I deliberately left it this late so that I could avoid seeing Victory again. Chances are she would have made a fuss about our argument earlier. Maybe she would have even cried. She has never been bothered about making a scene in public.<p>

As I am waiting to sign in I look around the square. Opposite me there is a big screen showing footage of the crowd. They do this every reaping, particularly in the richer districts. Apparently it creates the impression that we are all happy and excited.

As I am about to look away again Victory's face appears on the big screen. She has clearly noticed it as well, as the revolting little brat is posing and simpering at the camera. She tosses her hair and smiles adorably. It actually makes me feel quite sick, how easy she finds it to turn on the charm and how easily people are taken in by her. Hastily I look away from her.

Now the anthem is playing and the major is escorting Thalia, the escort for District 2, out onto the stage. She totters along next to him in buttercup-yellow high heels and a short, yellow dress that is a little too revealing on her. This year her hair is sky blue and very big and curly. I will never understand how these people from the Capitol can genuinely think they look good. Frankly she looks ridiculous and that outfit is so impractical. The poor woman must be frozen and if it rains she will get soaked. Now that would be a twist to the Games, escort catches pneumonia. I bet the Capitol wouldn't like that quite so much.

A peacekeeper shoves me forwards, bringing me back to reality. "Get a move on and sign in," he snaps impatiently at me. The queue of children in front of me has gone and I realise I am the only one left standing here. Quickly I follow his instructions and push my way through the crowd to stand with the other eighteen-year-olds.

I have to pass Victory to get to the front. Hastily she turns her head away when she notices me, but before she does I catch a glimpse of a smirk on her face. Why would she be smirking now? I shrug and take my place near the stage. I have never been able to understand what that little sneak is thinking.

The reaping follows the usual pattern it does every year. First there is the tedious speech by the major, then Thalia says a few words and then the tributes will be chosen. As the major drones on I find my thoughts straying back to the reaping last year. I was stood in almost the same place and my best friends was just beside me. We were laughing and joking together, not really listening. Until the male tribute was called out, that is. Then we were suddenly very alert. I remember he made a joke about the kid who was picked. Then he stepped forward to volunteer. We were so excited. He would represent our district in the Hunger Games, show all the other districts how good District 2 is and win. The reality turned out to be very different.

I shudder and turn my attention back to the stage just in time to hear Thalia call out: "Valerie Slate" I know her from school. She has two younger brothers I think. Poor girl, being faced with the prospect of killing them.

I am just turning away, getting ready to leave when a horribly familiar voice is suddenly raised above the general muttering of the crowd. "I volunteer!" The whole crowd turns to look at the speaker, but I don't have to. I know who that is. Victory.

She makes her way through the crowd, who draw back as she passes and now I understand why she was smirking. She planned this all along. This was to get back at me, to somehow prove she is braver than me. I was never going to volunteer myself and she knew it. The Quarter Quell just meant I didn't have to. I am the only male relative she has between twelve and eighteen. Basically my sister has just volunteered for me.

My hands are physically shaking with rage and I have to stuff them deep into my pockets so that nobody sees. If I had a weapon in my hand at this moment I would have happily killed Victory on the spot. The little rat. She did this on purpose. I am going to kill her. I don't care if we are family. I would strangle her right now if I was stood closer to her. In fact, I should have strangled her in the training centre when I had the chance.

I watch helplessly as she makes her way up onto the stage. The escort asks her name. She smiles winningly and looks me right in the eye. "Victory Flint," she says loudly and clearly.

Thalia beams at my sister and then checks her little, hand-held computer. Clearly that's how they know who's related to who. I had been wondering since they announced the Quarter Quell. "That means the male tribute for District 2 is... Macro Flint," she calls out. What a shock, like I didn't know that was coming.

Slowly and deliberately I walk towards the stage. My face is fixed into a neutral expression. I refuse to smile and wave and pretend to be happy, but I won't give Victory the satisfaction of looking angry. Once I am stood beside her on the stage the major moves on to read the Treaty of Treason.

While he is speaking I let my mind wander. This was the last thing I wanted, to be in the Games after my friend died last year. That doesn't mean I'm not in it to win. Already I am running through possible strategies in my head. I only know about one fellow tribute so far, but I am pretty confident that I could beat her in a fight. As I am definitely not the type to pretend to be weak or to play up on camera to get sponsors, I am going to have to rely on my fighting skills in the arena. A standard strategy of hunting down and killing the weaker tributes should be fairly effective. If during training I keep an eye on what the others are doing I will be able to gauge their strengths and weaknesses. That should come in handy when there are less tributes left.

My planning is interrupted by Thalia telling me to shake hands with Victory. I crush Victory's hand in mine and to my satisfaction I see her wince a little. The glare I send in her direction hopefully makes my thoughts very clear. I am planning to kill her at the first opportunity I get.

* * *

><p>"And that's it for District 2. Going back to Caesar in five... four... three... two... one... Caesar you're live."<p>

On televisions across Panem Caesar turns to grin at the camera. "What a dramatic reaping! The Quarter Quell's first volunteer! What a brave little girl. I bet we're all dying to see what she turns out to be like in the arena." He gives his trademark laugh.

In the Control Room the Gamemakers are already making their final checks before moving on the District 3. People mutter frantically into headsets and a woman with a clipboard moves between them taking notes.

"Moving on to District 3 in ten seconds," a voice booms suddenly around the room.


	6. District 3 Reaping

**Author's Note:** **Sorry this update has taken so long. We've been really busy with uni assignments.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed :) Your feedback is very helpful.**

**Thank you to Wandering princess for submitting Gigabyte and Router!**

**Question: Which tributes do you like best so far and how far do you think they will make it in the Games? xx**

* * *

><p>In a luxurious room in the Justice Building of District 3 a tall, slim woman is busily applying copious amounts of make-up in front of a gilt mirror. She outlines her lips in silver and steps back to admire the effect. Her narrow, oval face is painted a creamy white with silver lips and charcoal grey eyeliner, edged in silver. The eyeliner makes her large, baby-blue eyes stand out. Just the effect she wanted to create.<p>

Slowly she steps back from the mirror and gives her reflection a charming smile. Perfect. She admires her tight, silver dress covered with thin, grey lines which have been designed to look like circuits. Slowly the woman turns in a circle to see herself from every angle. Perfect, she thinks again.

As the new escort for District 3 she has made a particular effort to fit in with her new district. This is a huge promotion from her previous job in District 11 and she has no intention of making any mistakes. The crowd will love her themed look and she will become more popular. Who knows, the woman thinks as she picks an imaginary piece of dirt from her sleeve, in a few years there may even be another promotion to District 1 or 2.

The woman turns her attention to her hair. It is a ludicrous construction that towers above her head in a network of braids and ribbons. Tucking a strand behind her ear the escort for District 3 admires her finished effect. Very stylish, she decides.

As she is studying her reflection the door opens and a peacekeeper steps into the room. "Just to let you know, Miss Petal, the reaping will begin in an hour," he says politely.

Lucia Petal turns briefly to look at him and gives him a charming smile. "Thank you very much," she replies sweetly and goes back to examining her hair.

* * *

><p><strong>Gigabyte Codec, District Three<strong>

* * *

><p>"Giga? Gigabyte?"<p>

I sigh as I hear my mother's voice calling me from downstairs. She sounds frantic, like she always does on reaping day. I can almost see her with her hair falling out of it's usual tidy bun, trying desperately to make sure everybody has had a proper breakfast and is ready to go on time. "Giga?", she calls again and I hear her opening and closing doors downstairs.

Resigned, I drop the end of the rosebud braid I had almost finished twisting into my long black hair and watch as it slowly unwinds. Perhaps I won't have time to braid my hair before the reaping after all. Briefly I think how unfair this is. I do everything for other people and I only ask for one small thing in return. Then I think of my poor mother struggling to organise the rest the family and my annoyance melts away. "I'm here," I call, "On my way down now." Quickly I pull my hair back into a simple french braid and run downstairs.

As predicted my mother looks hassled and flustered. She is clutching a large pan of porridge and doesn't seem to have noticed that she has the lumpy, grey substance smeared across her left cheek. Gently I wipe it away with the corner of my sleeve. As usual her husband, my step-father, is nowhere in sight when there are jobs to be done. Sometimes I just wish he could be a little more supportive of my mother. He's not a bad man, it's just he never helps her with the children. That's why it's always left to me.

"Do you need some help?", I offer, already hurrying past her to wrestle a bread knife off my half-sister, five-year-old Widget, who is currently doing her best to cut herself, "You seem to be struggling a little bit." I place the knife safely out of reach on top of one of the cupboards and offer Widget a slice of bread instead. She takes it and munches on it happily, smiling adoringly up at me.

"Giga, you're a star," my mother beams and throws her arms around me, almost spilling hot porridge down my back, "I just need a few minutes to get changed for the reaping. I promise I'll be back down in no time." Before I can say anything my mother is stuffing the handle of the pan into my hand and dashing off upstairs.

I am left looking slightly shocked and amused at the same time. This is so typical of my mother, always rushing off and leaving me in charge. I sigh good-naturedly and turn back to face the room full of children, my half-siblings, nieces and nephews. "Right," I call out and the room falls silent as they all turn to look at me, "We have half an hour until we have to leave for the square. That means I want everybody to be ready in fifteen minutes." There are collective groans as I say this. "Also I don't want a repeat of last year, which means, Wrapper, you had better go and get dressed now." My little half-brother grins charmingly at me. He is only eleven, so not yet eligible for the reapings, but last year he was so late that we had to take him still in his pyjamas. It was very embarrassing.

I watch as the children wolf down the rest of their breakfast and then scatter in different directions to get ready for the reaping. Slowly I let myself sink into a kitchen chair. My eyes stray to the window and I notice grey rain pounding against the glass, streaming down it and pooling along the windowsill before running off to either side. Absentmindedly I watch the water for a while, see patterns in the raindrops as they run down the glass. A noise behind me brings me back to the present and I shudder and look away from the rain. I have never liked rain. It is too cold for my taste.

Behind me Cache, the fifteen-year-old daughter of my aunt, Ripcode, is leaning on the work surface watching me intently. I have no idea how long she has been standing there. "Is something wrong?", I ask and instantly her face crumples and she begins to cry. I jump to my feet and wrap a protective arm around her shoulders. I can feel her shaking violently, as she tries to control herself. "What is it?", I ask again, "Come on, Cache, don't cry." I rub my hand in soothing circle across her back until she slowly stops crying and dries her eyes on her sleeve.

"I have a bed feeling about today," she sniffs miserably, "I just know something awful is going to happen. What if I'm reaped?" She looks up at me with big, sad eyes. "I don't want to be in the Hunger Games."

_Neither do I_, I think to myself. The very idea of being in the Games scares me. Particularly this year, where I would be up against somebody from my own family. My family means everything to me and I just can't imagine what I'd do if I was forced into the arena with them. Actually I can, I know I would do anything to protect my family. Forcing a bright smile onto my face I ruffle Cache's hair affectionately, making her laugh. "You won't be chosen, so don't worry about it."

She seems about to say something, but the door bursts open and we are interrupted by my mother carrying Widget on her hip. "There you are, Giga. What are you still doing in here?" She looks me critically up and down, taking in my understated dress and uncomplicated braid. "Are you going to the reaping dressed like that? Shouldn't you make a bit more of an effort?", she asks me sounding disapproving.

I glance at Cache and roll my eyes. She giggles and rolls her eyes back again. "I didn't have time to do anything better," I say gesturing regretfully at my hair, "I was going to do something a bit more interesting..."

My mother shakes her head and hugs me. "What would I do without you?", she asks as I lean my head against her shoulder, "I would never get anywhere on time. Thank you, Giga. Go and braid your hair if you want, I'll take over for now."

Delighted, I beam at her, kiss her on the cheek and run up the stairs, taking them three steps at a time. Sat in front of my little mirror I picture what it would be like to be chosen as tribute to represent District 3. I try to imagine actually standing on the stage in front of the whole district, but I can't. I can't imagine how I would feel. Scared, I suppose. I am under no illusion that if I was reaped I would be going to the Games. We never have volunteers here in Three. The thought makes me shudder.

I take out the french braid and run a brush through my long hair, still thinking about the reaping. If I was chosen to represent District 3 which of my family would be chosen with me? We are a large family and I have countless nephews and cousins who could be reaped. I am only relieved that sweet little Wrapper, my half-brother, isn't old enough yet. Straight away I feel guilty for thinking that. It would be no better if anybody else was chosen. I shake my head and silently scold myself for being silly. It won't help anybody if I think like this. Chances are I won't be reaped anyway. There are hundreds of names to choose from, so why would mine be pulled out of the glass ball? I have to look confident from my younger relatives anyway. If they see me looking scared it will probably frighten them too.

Quickly I twist my hair up into a gorgeous rosebud braid and admire myself in the mirror. I might not be beautiful, but at least I look neat and tidy. I smile at my reflection, practicing my confident look that I will use to reassure anybody who gets scared at the reaping.

"Giga!", my mother's voice calls from downstairs and I hear the front door close, "Browser's here. He wants to know if any of us have seen Router." Browser is my father's son, so my half-brother, and Router is his mischievous and troublesome son. I hate to think what he's up to this time. He really should know better on reaping day.

I get to my feet. "Coming!", I call down the stairs as I rummage through the wardrobe for a jacket. Then I make my way downstairs. Everybody is gathered in the hall, waiting to leave. As usual we are already running about ten minutes late.

Browser is standing by the front door. He looks worried and stressed and from the dark shadows under his eyes I can tell he didn't get much sleep last night. He was probably worrying about the reaping today. I give him a warm smile and a hug, pressing him to me, not only because he looks stressed, but also because his comforting presence makes me feel a tiny bit braver. "Don't worry, we'll find Router," I assure him, "He won't have gone far today. He's probably just playing with his friends somewhere."

"But we're late!", my mother panics, "We don't have time to go running all over the city looking for him. We should be in the square by now! Giga, we have to leave!" I have no idea why she is telling me that we have to leave. I am the organised one in this family.

I nod and smile indulgently. "Tell you what, why don't you all set off and I'll look for Router. I still have plenty of time to find him and make it to the square. Browser, you can help get all the kids there on time."

My mother looks ridiculously relieved and throws her arms around my neck. "You are wonderful, Giga," she gushes. Browser and I exchange amused glances behind her back.

"Go on," I urge, "You're going to be late." As he leaves the house Browser throws me a grateful look and mouths, "Good luck." I know he means for the reaping and not finding Router. My eyes fill with involuntary tears at the thought of losing my family. After all, that is what would happen if I was reaped.

Still trying my best not to cry I leave the house and lock the front door behind me. Now where could that little terror, Router, have got to?

* * *

><p><strong>Router Analog, District Three<strong>

* * *

><p>The ball smashes through the ground-floor window of the large house with a loud, echoing crash.<p>

There is a moment's silence, then: "Router!", I hear a voice behind me yell and whip around to face its owner. Sync, one of my best friends, is stood glaring at me hands on hips. "What on earth did you do that for?"

I shrug nervously and fidget from one foot to the other, running my hands through my spiky brown Mohawk. "It was an accident, Sync, I didn't mean to", I say apologetically. We're in Sync's back garden and the window I have just smashed is the window to his dad's study. When his dad gets back from the reaping we are all going to be in so much trouble.

"He can't help it," Newton calls from where he is bouncing on Sync's expensive forcefield trampoline. "If he'd sit still for a second, he might stop breaking stuff!" Just because Newton's older than me he is always making fun of me. I roll my eyes at him but otherwise ignore the comment.

"I didn't think!", I mumble, studying the ground at my feet and idly kicking a pebble with the toe of my shoe.

Newton mutters something under his breath that I'm fairly sure sounds like "You never can".

"Oh stop fighting!", Digita exclaimes, leaping off the trampoline and coming to land inches in front of me. "We've got to get to the reaping soon and I want to do something fun!" Digita is the only girl in our group but she is so hyper we don't even think about that.

I grin up at her. "Maybe we could play catch?", I suggest laughing. I'm faster than all my friends and they know it.

Sync's not ready to let the thing about the window go though. "My dad is going to kill us!"

I leap forward and tag him. "You're it!", I yell and run off across the garden. "Catch me if you can!" I bounce around just out of reach of any of my friends and pull a face at them.

The other two members of our group, Edison and Watt, glance at each other before retreating away from Sync, just in case we actually are playing. They're twins and they're great fun because they are always pretending to be the other one. It's hilarious how people can't tell them apart.

I run up and down the garden a few times and jump the nearest flowerbed for good measure. Sync rolls his eyes but he's grinning again. "Ok then, Router." He sets off at a run after Digita, who shrieks with laughter and sprints off towards the trampoline. At the last minute he changes direction and chases after me instead.

I turn and sprint the length of the garden. "Can't catch me!", I taunt jokingly, looking back over my shoulder at him. At that moment I slam headlong into something fairly hard and am sent sprawling backwards on the grass.

Looking up, I recognise my Aunt Giga stood over me, frowning in mock-disapproval. She's my dad's half sister and I like her a lot even though I don't see her very often. I grin up at her and clamber to my feet brushing grass off my clothes. Behind me I hear the sounds of the other five coming over.

"The mischief posse," she says, her voice sounding exactly like my mum's when she is cross with me, except I can see that Aunt Giga is smiling. "I might have..."

"We were just playing chase," I interrupt. "The reaping isn't for hours yet." I start hopping from one foot to the other again and glancing restlessly around the garden. I want to carry on with our game.

"... known," Aunt Giga finishes, taking no notice of my interruption. "The reaping is in half an hour and if we don't hurry we're going to be late."

"Race you!", I shout at the top of my voice and make a dash for the garden gate.

A hand catches the back of my t-shirt and pulls me to a halt. "You all need to get cleaned up a bit first," Aunt Giga says looking us up and down. "Five minutes then I want you all by the gate and ready to go."

I sprint off and am first back at the gate. I can't help fiddling with the lock and pulling leaves off the nearby hedge while I wait. What is taking them so long?

Eventually, Digita shows up followed by Newton, Sync, Watt and Edison. Aunt Giga looks at us critically but doesn't say anything so we all set off together. Digita and I run ahead of the others and back until we reach the square and are forced to sign in and go separate ways.

Even standing with Newton, Sync, Watt and Edison the square feels claustrophobic. I hate standing still and being forced to do nothing. My eyes dart around the square taking in as many details as possible. I notice my family all stood together in one of the cordoned off areas, I see Wiress and Beetee making their way onto the stage. They are my heroes and I can't help shifting around a bit to try and get a better look at them.

"Ouch, Router, get off my foot!", Watt hisses at me.

I make an attempt to stand still. The only good thing is that we were fairly late and the mayor has already started his speech. I turn to Sync and whisper: "This is so boring and it takes _ages_. Why do they make us show up every year? There are so many other things I could be doing right now. You know, I finished one of my collections of chipsets the other day. Dad brought me some back from the..."

"Router, shut up!", Newton leans past Sync to whisper. "We're supposed to be being quiet!"

"I am being quiet," I hiss back. "It's not like I'm talking loudly or anything." But I try and stop talking and watch what's going on on the stage. Our district's escort is wearing a silver and grey dress and her face is all silver and grey, too, with towering hair full of stupid ribbons. I nudge Edison to point out how stupid she looks but he shoots me a warning glance so I stand still and shut my mouth again.

"The female tribute for District 3 is...", the woman announces loudly.

I turn to Sync and snigger under my breath. "Seriously, I'm surprised she can move her head with all that hair, does she know how ridiculous she looks? Imagine if someone went to school with that on their head! Everyone would..."

I am interrupted by the escort calling: "...Gigabyte Codec!"

Aunt Giga! Quickly I shuffle around and crane my neck to try and see her. She looks really calm as she walks towards the stage. She is even smiling at the rest of our family. I wonder who else will be picked. Our family is so large it could be anyone.

"And the male tribute is...", the escort announces in her silly voice that makes me want to laugh.

I turn back to Sync again and say quietly: "I can't believe it was Aunt Giga! Dad will be really upset. I mean, we don't see her much but she's still family and..."

"...Router Analog!"

I can feel myself beginning to tremble and I don't quite understand what is going on. I can almost feel the colour draining from my cheeks and the smile fading from my face.

"Router Analog!", the woman in the silver-grey dress repeats.

My eyes are fixed on the podium and the tiny computer in her hands. _My dad helped invent those_, I think dazedly. I can't believe it has my name on it, it just refuses to sink in. It feels like I am stuck in a dream. The world is spinning around me and I feel sick and dizzy. It's like the time I spent all day running around with my friends without eating and collapsed. I remember it being one of the few times I met Aunt Giga. She helped me up and fed me some chocolate and told me everything would be alright in a minute. I wish she would say that now.

Tears begin to prick my eyes and I have to fight them back. I look helplessly over at Sync. His face has gone white as a sheet and his eyes are wide and frightened. Behind him I can see Newton, mouth hanging open, and Edison and Watt clutching each other, shaking violently. We all look so much younger than we are.

Slowly, I turn away from them and walk toward the stage. My legs feel weak and shaky and I don't know how they are supporting my weight. The older kids in front of me part to let me through. The whole square is silent.

"You must be Router," silver-dress says. She grabs my arm painfully and drags me the last few steps onto the stage.

The square seems to be spinning and I can't focus on anything, when she lets go of me I stumble and almost fall. My breathing sounds too loud in my own ears and I can feel my heart hammering. Black spots are starting to appear before my eyes and I can feel a sob welling up in my chest.

Suddenly I feel gentle hands on my shoulders and my eyes refocus and I see Aunt Giga kneeling in front of me. She looks calm and comforting and somehow this makes me want to cry even more. I let out a sob and bury my face in her dress. She gently wraps her arms around me and stays there holding me while the mayor reads the Treaty of Treason. I don't hear a word of it.

The next thing I know, silver-dress has my arm in her claws again and is dragging me through the doors of the Justice Building. I hear them snap shut loudly behind me and there is nothing I want more than to turn around and run away, like I do at home if I don't want to do something, but I can't. I'm a tribute in the Hunger Games.

* * *

><p>Back in her dressing room Lucia Petal settles herself gracefully on a velvet sofa and helps herself to a caramel-filled chocolate. As she eats the sweet she thinks about this years tributes and weighs up her chances of winning. As it is her first year as escort for this district it would be very beneficial to her career if one of her tributes were to win.<p>

First she considers the girl. She may not be exactly pretty, but she does have a very striking face, the escort decides, and her hair is long and silky. She could be made to look sophisticated, not something usually associated with District 3, even if she is a bit thin. She was very dignified when she was reaped, not one of those ones who cries and makes a fuss. Also, it would be possible to work on a family angle. She seems to have a large family and she seems to care about them a lot. Perhaps some interviews about them would go down well in the Capitol.

Lucia gets to her feet and wanders across the room to look in her mirror again. Best to check her make-up before it is time to leave for the station. Carefully she applies another layer of lipstick. All in all, she thinks to herself as she applies more white powder to her face, it could be much worse. The girl will do. At least she looks nothing like the girl from Three who died in the bloodbath a few years ago. Now she was _very_ odd-looking.

Smoothing her hair down again Lucia turns her thought to this year's male tribute. Too young to really be in with a chance, she thinks. He looks sweet enough to possibly get some sponsors if he last long enough. Nice brown eyes. It would have been better though if he had not been tall for his age. For the young ones to get sponsors it's better to look small and naive.

Lucia shakes her head and makes up her mind to focus her attention on the girl. After all, she has a much better chance of winning than her young nephew. Plastering a fake smile onto her face the escort heads off to collect her two tributes for their journey to the Capitol.


	7. District 4 Reaping

**Author's Note: Firstly, thanks to UltimateMaxmericaShipper for the amazing cover pic! Again :D This really is the last time I'll change it, I promise :D**

**Thanks to publicfigure for Brooks and xSakura-Blossomsx for Kailani. :)**

**Hope you enjoy the chapter, feedback is always appreciated :D**

**Question: Now we have all our careers, what do you think the career alliance will be like? What will the dynamic be like? Who will be in charge? Which of them do you think will be killed first, who will survive longest? :D**

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><p>The early-morning light stains the crests of the waves golden and sparkles off the wet sand. Everything is still and empty, just a long, silent beach, it's rows of fishing boats looking like discarded toys scattered by a young child who is tired of playing with them. High in the clear sky, which is just beginning to turn pink and gold, the gulls circle. Their mournful cries are carried on the wind to the figure sat on the dunes, hidden by the tall, rough grass.<p>

The wind ruffles the man's hair and shakes the plants around him, but he pays it no attention. His sea-green eyes are fixed on the horizon and he watches as slowly the world is filled with colour around him and the grey dawn fades into a beautiful sunny day.

An old woman walks slowly across the sand to join him. In her wizened hands she is carrying a fishing rod and a covered basket. She is wrapped in an old coat, with patches on the elbows, even though underneath it her clothing is good-quality. As she reaches the dunes she struggles to climb the steep slope. Her feet keep slipping back as the sand moves under them.

For the first time since he arrived the young man moves. He gets quickly to his feet and offers the old woman a hand. When she takes it he helps her up beside him and smiles warmly at her. Together they stand in silence looking out at the sea, their thoughts dwelling on the reaping today and the two children who will be chosen to die for their District.

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><p><strong>Kailani Mizu, District Four<strong>

* * *

><p>I am sat at the kitchen table with my little sister Ebony drawing flowers for her. She is only four and she loves watching me draw. Normally I don't have time, with school and looking after the house for my dad, but today is reaping day so I am making an effort. With the stub of a pencil I am sketching pretty patterns on a page I have torn out from one of my exercise books. It's hardly a masterpiece, but it seems to make Ebony happy. She laughs and snatches at the pencil with her tiny, chubby hands. When I let her take it she giggles and tries to draw a flower beside mine. It looks very shaky and lopsided, but that doesn't seem to bother my sister. She points at it dramatically. "Look, Lani, I drew a flower."<p>

"Very good, Ebony," I praise her, ruffling her caramel-coloured curls, "You could be an artist when you grow up." I know that there is no way my little sister could ever be an artist, but it seems mean to tell her that. She is only four after all.

Ebony beams happily at me and draws another flower. I think this one is supposed to be a rose. Before she died my mother used to grow roses in our tiny garden. Since her accident I have never been able to look at the flowers without thinking of her. It makes me feel sad and happy at the same time. Sad because she is gone and happy because I can remember how much she loved those flowers and how happy they made her.

Before I have a chance to indulge in feeling sad though Ebony is tugging on my sleeve to get my attention. "I'm hungry," she wines and bats her long, dark eyelashes at me. She may not be very old, but she certainly knows how to get what she wants. I doubt she is actually hungry as we have already had breakfast, but she knows we have saved some bread and honey for after the reaping.

Laughing I get up and fetch her one small slice of bread. "Here," I say to her as I spread honey on it, "but you can only have this one. The rest is for later." It makes me smile watching her eat the treat, getting honey everywhere.

At that moment the door opens and my father comes into the room. He looks very tired as I know he has been up since before dawn to get in plenty of fishing to make up for the time lost at the reaping. Slowly he sinks into a chair and stretches his tired muscles. "Good morning, you two," he says with a smile and kisses little Ebony on the top of the head, "How are you feeling this morning?" This question is directed at me and I know he is worrying about the Hunger Games.

I shrug and turn away to wash up the breakfast things. "I feel fine. There's no more reason to worry, just because it's a Quarter Quell." My dad lets the subject go as I obviously don't want to discuss it, but I can feel him watching me the whole time it takes us to get ready and walk to the square.

We saunter along, each holding one of Ebony's hand as she toddles between us. On any other day I would be delighted to spend time with my dad like this, but today is different. You can feel the tense atmosphere and however hard we try to make it sound casual our conversation is slightly forced.

When we reach the square my father gives me a brief squeeze and then disappears into the crowd carrying Ebony. I watch them both go for a minute and then go to sign in. As the peacekeeper pricks my finger I try my best to focus on the beautiful, clear blue sky and not to think about it. Then I hurry straight to the sixteen-year-old section and push my way to the front. I always stand at the front of my section, so that I can be right behind Ula, my best friend, who is a year older than me.

As always, when I arrive Ula is already stood at the back of her section, waiting for me. She gives me a warm smile and takes my hand. We grip each other tightly, not needing to say anything. We understand how the other one is feeling without having to ask. I can tell that my friend is scared. Last night she confessed to me that she was sure it was going to be her who was chosen. I tried to reassure her that it wouldn't be, but the idea of loosing her made me cry too much so in the end we both just sat on my bed and sobbed for about an hour.

On stage the mayor, the escort and the mentors have just taken their places. I look up at them and wish I could be anywhere else right now. Actually, looking at Finnick Odair he seems to be wishing he was somewhere else as well. His eyes are unfocussed and he is looking over the heads of the crowd at the sea beyond. He looks breathtaking stood there and I can't help smiling, despite the situation. I nudge Ula and she grins at me. Clearly she has noticed him as well. Actually the whole of the district seems to be looking at him. I wonder if he minds.

Then the mayor starts his speech and I reluctantly turn to look at him instead. It follows the normal pattern of reaping speeches, tedious and dull, giving no real information at all. The only difference is that at the end of this speech the mayor explains the process for the reaping for this year's Quarter Quell. The female tribute will be chosen as normal and then the male one will be selected from a computer that tells the escort who is related to the female tribute.

I look at the glass bowl of girls names and shudder. To me it seems like there are far less names than usual. Clearly people with no eligible male relatives have been ruled out. I wish I was that lucky. I have quite a few cousins, even if I don't really know any of them.

The escort, a man in a tight, baby pink leather suit, prances across the stage to the bowl and before I even have time to panic he has pulled out a slip of paper. "This year's female tribute for District 4 will be..." He pauses dramatically and the whole square holds it's breath. "Ula Trenton!"

I can't believe it. My knees begin to shake and I clutch Ula's hand tighter, refusing to let her go. She can't be in the Hunger Games, she just can't. First my mother, now Ula. I can't lose her. Tears are streaming down my face and I am still holding my friend's hand. Frantically I look around. Somebody must want to volunteer. Almost every year somebody volunteers. Why is nobody stepping forwards now?

Shakily Ula pulls her hand out of my grip and walks slowly towards the stage, as if she is in a trance. I want to scream at her to stop, but my voice doesn't seem to be working. She is getting closer and closer to the stage, to her certain death. My legs give way and somebody beside me has to catch me so that I don't fall.

Then Ula is stood on the stage, beside the escort. "Do we have any volunteers?", the escort calls out in a ringing voice. No one moves, nobody volunteers. "No volunteers?", he checks again, "Well, in that case, this year's tribute for District 4 is U..."

"I volunteer!", a voice screams and it takes a second for me to realise that it's me talking, "I volunteer! I will be this year's tribute!" Frantically I run towards the stage, pushing people out of the way. They all throw me sympathetic glances, but nobody says anything.

Ula looks as shocked as everybody else. Her eyes are locked with mine and she is slowly shaking her head. It's too late to stop me though. I come up onto the stage, my vision still blurred with tears, and she is ushered back into the crowd by the peacekeepers.

My eyes search through the crowds of adults and I finally find my father. He is crying, clutching Ebony to his chest. I know I will have to explain my actions to him later, but right now the sight of him just makes me cry harder. Then I realise the escort has already asked me three times for my name. "Kailani Mizu," I stammer, trying to dry my eyes on my sleeve. It doesn't work very well and my eyes are soon red and sore.

As the escort is checking his little computer screen Finnick Odair steps subtly forward and offers me a handkerchief. Gratefully I take it and wipe my eyes. I must look a sight and the whole of Panem is watching. With a huge effort I pull myself together and stop crying just in time to hear a boy in the crowd call out, "I volunteer!" I don't recognise him. He must be one of the cousins I have heard mentioned, but have never met before.

The boy climbs onto the stage and comes to stand beside me. He barely even glances in my direction. To me it seems very strange to volunteer to kill a member of your own family. Then again, we aren't exactly close. We are total strangers. I'm actually quite surprised that he remembered my name and that we were related. He must have done to volunteer. When he gives his name as Brooks Maria, I honestly can't say I even remember my father having mentioned him in passing. I look him up and down and decide that if we have to be enemies it's better if I don't get to know him.

The mayor reads out the Treaty of Treason and then I am being whisked into the Justice Building. Suddenly it hits me, I am a tribute in the Hunger Games. I am going to have to kill people and I could be killed myself. I will never see my home or my family again. Suddenly my legs are shaking again, but for an entirely different reason, I'm terrified.

* * *

><p>In the driftwood paneled hallway of the Justice Building the young man and the old woman sit together on a padded bench. The young man's arm is around the woman's frail shoulders. Their new tributes have just been escorted upstairs to say goodbye to their loved ones. There is nothing for the two mentors to do for the moment but wait.<p>

A peacekeeper passes them and gives them both a quizzical look before walking on. They must look strange, huddled together, not speaking to each other. They both know they should probably make an effort to look excited at the idea of returning to the Capitol, but neither of them can summon up the energy.

* * *

><p><strong>Brooks Maria, District Four<strong>

* * *

><p>I am ushered into a spacious, light room on the second floor of the Justice Building by a peacekeeper. He then closes the door behind him and leaves me on my own. I slowly wander around the room, taking in the details of it's design. The walls are paneled, like the hallways, in driftwood and a large window fills most of the far wall, letting in the beautiful sunlight. There is a thick carpet on the floor and I can't resist the urge to slip my shoes off and walk across it. It feels nothing like anything I have ever felt before. It's warm and soft and comfortable on the soles of my feet, not hard like rocks or gritty like sand. I walk around the room a few times before coming to a halt looking out of the tall window at the sea.<p>

I will miss this, I think to myself as I watch the waves crashing against the distant rocks, the sound, the smell, everything. I can't allow these things to hold me back though. This has been my dream, my ambition, for as long as I can remember. This is what I have dedicated my life to. Here is my chance to enter the Hunger Games and become a victor. A slow smile spreads across my face. It feels good to finally be doing what I have always imagined.

Behind me the door opens and my father is showed into the room by the same peacekeeper who brought me up here. In a few steps my father has crossed the room and is standing beside me. He reaches out and places a hand on my shoulder in a supportive way. Neither of us say anything. Since my mum died we have never been the most communicative of families.

I give my father what I hope is a reassuring smile and squeeze his hand. I know that when I was little he didn't really want me to train for the Hunger Games. I think he was scared of the idea of losing somebody he cared about. Then he lost my mum. It was a hard time for both of us and training was something for us both to focus on. It meant we didn't have to talk about our feelings. Now it comes down to it though I can see that he still doesn't want me to actually enter the Games. He doesn't share my confidence or my determination to win glory for our district, like the other victors from District 4.

From somewhere in another room of the Justice Building I can hear the sound of somebody crying. It must be that poor girl who volunteered, my cousin. Really I should be grateful that she did volunteer. If she hadn't I would have missed my chance to be in the Games. With this Quarter Quell twist I wouldn't have been able to volunteer if the other girl had been chosen, as she's not related to me. I do feel slightly sorry for her though. She doesn't exactly seem cut out to be in the Games. Somehow I can't see her killing people.

I know my dad can hear her too because he catches my eye and shrugs. I half expect him to tell me not to kill her or to try and protect her, but he doesn't. I don't think he cares what happens to her as long as I make it home. He has never been close to his brothers and sisters and I don't think he's ever even met his niece.

The door opens again and the peacekeeper steps into the room. "Time's up," he announces and beckons to my father to follow him.

Slowly and reluctantly my dad takes his hand off my shoulder and turns to go. He drags his feet as if that will somehow stop me from going. At the door he stops and turns to look at me again. "Come home," he says to me and I can hear his voice shake slightly.

"I will," I reply. He nods and then he is gone. I turn back to look out at the view again. I have no doubt that I am capable of winning. I am not just making empty promises to make him feel better. I will be coming home as a victor.

Again the door is pushed open behind me and this time my best friend Lily is standing in the doorway. She looks sad, like she is trying not to cry, but still determined. She understands exactly how much I want this. We have discussed volunteering so many times that it can't have come as a shock to her when I actually did. I think she just finds it hard to say goodbye.

With hurried steps Lily crosses the room and I wrap my arms around her slim frame. For a few minutes we just stand there like this not speaking, her head resting against my shoulder, listening to the faint sound of the waves from outside. Then Lily begins to hum softly to herself. The melody is very old and it sounds beautiful when she sings it.

I laugh and twirl her round to the music. I have only been able to dance for a few days. Lily insisted that it was something everybody should know how to do and taught me some basic steps. She looks beautiful dancing, whereas I look clumsy and uncoordinated. Neither of us mind though as we waltz around the room to Lily's humming. After a second we are both laughing and we come to a halt, leaning against one of the walls for support.

When I am in the Games this in how I am going to remember Lily. Her cheeks are flushed a delicate pink, her long blonde ringlets are messy and tangled and her blue eyes are sparkling with mirth. To me she has never looked more perfect. I stop laughing. "Lily," I say and immediately she becomes serious again too, "I'm going to miss you, but I promise I will come back. Whatever happens in that arena I will come home." It suddenly seems very important that she understands that I am going to win.

She nods, but I can still see the fear in her eyes. "You have been trained for this," she says slowly, "but so have some of the other tributes. What if something happens to you? What if..." Her voice trails off and she has to turn her head away from me.

"Lily, look at me." I gently turn her head back so that she is facing me. "Nothing will happen to me, I promise." I suddenly have a thought and slip the ring I always wear off my finger. It once belong to my mother. It is very plain, silver with tiny dolphins carved into it. "Here." I had it to Lily, who looks surprised but then closes her hand around it. "Take this, as a promise that I will come home for you."

Her eyes fill with tears as I say this and she reaches up to kiss me. I wrap my arms around her in return and for the briefest of seconds I regret having to go. The two of us are just friends, we have never discussed our feelings for each other, but suddenly I want to stay here with Lily forever.

The peacekeeper interrupts us at that moment. He bangs the door open and grunts, "Time to go."

Lily stretches up on tiptoes, kisses me again and then runs from the room, fighting not to cry. I am left alone again.

I wander back to look out of the window, picturing what it will be like to win the Hunger Games. I can almost see it now, the cheering crowds, my father beaming at me, Lily waiting for me when I get off the train. I smile to myself. This experience is going to be amazing.

* * *

><p>Somewhere in the Justice Building above the two mentors a heavy door opens and then closes again. Footsteps can be heard hurrying along the echoing corridors and then clattering down the stairs. They belong to a young girl with blonde hair and beautiful ice-blue eyes. She runs past the mentors and down the steps of the Justice Building. There are tears trickling down her cheeks and in her hand she is clutching something small.<p>

The young man gets to his feet and offers a hand to the old woman. She takes it and he helps her to her feet. They both look sad and tired as they turn towards the stairs to wait for the two young people who are being sent to their deaths.


	8. District 5 Reaping

**Author's Note: Thanks to grimbutnotalways for Jason and hollowman96 for Cordinia! I hope I've done them both justice, they were both very fun to write about!**

**Warning: This chapter contains violence, self-harm, blood, mention of murder, stuff like that. I realise this is a Hunger Games story so it's to be expected, but just not normally in the reapings. If any of these things upset you, I recommend not reading Cordinia's POV.**

**Question: Who is your favourite tribute so far and why? Who do you like least? :)**

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><p>The train from the Capitol pulls into the station of District 5 with screeching brakes. A peacekeeper jumps smartly forwards to open the door and a man breezes past him onto the platform. He looks around and then strides off towards a waiting car.<p>

Behind him two more figures climb from the train, a man and a woman. They are clearly from the Capitol as they have rich clothes and their hair is dyed in complementary colours of red and green. The woman's skin is decorated with swirling patterns in a subtle, sage green, whereas the man has bold red makeup and gold lipstick. Together the two of them follow the first man, the escort for District 5.

"It's just simply beastly here!", the woman exclaims to her companion in a high, shrill voice, "I can't understand why we have to be here." Her capitol accent sound ridiculously out of place in the dingy station of District 5. She turns her nose up at their surroundings and shudders over-dramatically.

The man beside her laughs. "We are here to make Aulus look good." He gestures at the escort and they both laugh.

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><p><strong>Jason Thesik, District Five<strong>

* * *

><p>The wind is cold on my face as I huddle behind a dustbin just outside a peacekeeper's house, staring up at the unlit windows. It is so dark I can barely even make out the outline of the house, still a few hours until dawn. Freezing rain lashes down into my eyes, soaking my clothes and making my teeth chatter. I have been waiting here for an hour already and I can't feel my feet or hands any more.<p>

I shiver and study the house one more time. Nothing stirs. It's time to make my move.

In one movement I push my shaggy black hair out of my eyes and pull my hood up. It completely hides my face, only my faded blue eyes are still visible. I rummage around in one of the many pockets of my jacket and come up with a pair of black gloves which I hastily pull on. I'm ready to go.

Dressed all in black I know I am invisible in the darkness as I slip out from behind the bin and creep towards the house. Still nothing moves and I know the wind and rain will help to cover any noise I make. Not that I make any.

Silently I come to a halt outside the kitchen window and peer inside. All clear. I gently try the catch and the window swings open. _Some people never learn_, I think to myself and swing gracefully up, hauling myself over the windowsill and into the room beyond.

I land softly and look around. No one is moving around nearby, so I am relatively safe. Quickly, I reach into another pocket and pull out a small towel, hastily drying the floor where I am stood and my boots. It wouldn't do to leave wet footprints everywhere. No need to make the peacekeepers' job any easier than it already is.

Tucking the towel away again I scan my surroundings. The room is fairly small with a scrubbed wooden table taking up most of the central area. The walls are lined with cupboards and there is a small stove in one corner, still giving off heat. Clearly these people have enough fuel to keep their house warm overnight as well. It makes me sick.

Trying to ignore the growing feeling of anger, I glance around and spot the most likely cupboard, a large one right by the stove, and cross the kitchen to pull it open. Cheese, sausages, bacon, eggs, ham, bread, tomatoes, mushrooms, jam, fruit, honey. I begin to grab things and stuff them into my pockets, making sure to get as much as I can without it being noticeable that anything is missing.

Upstairs I hear a door open and close again and I freeze. Footsteps make their way across the landing and I hear another door. Someone going to the bathroom, my cue to leave.

I snatch a last loaf of bread and a seed cake that I notice lying on the table and tuck them into my coat, hurrying back over to the window. As quietly as I can I climb onto the sill, shivering at the sudden gust of icy wind that hits me, and let myself drop back down into the garden pulling the window shut again behind me.

The journey back to the orphanage feels like it takes forever. The rain is cold and my hands are numb, my only comfort is the still-warm seed cake that I am carrying - I can feel it's warmth through my t-shirt. I don't see anybody, it's still far too early, especially on reaping day. Most people don't have to work today so are staying in bed. I am glad. I don't want to have to explain what a seventeen-year-old boy from the home is doing sneaking around at this time in the morning.

When I reach the home, I climb back in through the downstairs window that I left open. The doors are always locked and guarded at night but no one thinks about the windows. The carers don't bother to check them, so it's the safest way to get in and out.

I take the food through to the small kitchen and begin to empty it onto the table. If the carers saw it, I'm sure they'd take it all for themselves but they never come down here. It's up to us older children to feed the little ones, the adults eat separately upstairs. They always have five times as much food as we have and there are less of them. It's disgusting.

Until recently I used to be just like them. I had a home, rich parents, everything I wanted. Then there was a fire. I lost everything and what I didn't lose was stolen from me by the mayor. And now I'm here.

"Jason," says a voice behind me.

I jump and whirl round peering into the darkness. "Lacy?", I ask, trying to keep my voice down. You never know who might be listening in this place.

A light flares up and I see Lacy balancing on one of the cupboards by the door. Lacy is one of the girls who lives here. She's sixteen and everyone loves her. She is kind and friendly and beautiful and funny. I honestly don't know why she bothers to spend time with me. I'm just me. "Have you been out stealing again?", she asks. "It's so dangerous! Last time you were caught and whipped!" I can see concern written all over her face but also pride, I don't know why.

I nod and put the last of the food on the table, looking down at my shoes. "Give everyone a decent breakfast before the reaping," I mumble. I don't know why but Lacy makes me feel uncomfortable, probably because she is far too good to be spending time with the likes of me.

She hops down and comes over to me. "That's so sweet, Jason. You're so brave."

I scowl at her and turn away. "No, I'm not." I hate it when she says stuff like that. I'm not brave. Until my parents were killed I was just like the carers and peacekeepers. I was a spoiled brat who only cared about myself while there were poor little kids starving to death in homes like this one. I'm not brave, I owe it to them. I'm no better than the people who run this place who take the food meant for the kids and eat it themselves. I'm disgusting.

"Jason!" I see a small figure running towards me. Rory is 14 and he's like my shadow. Apparently he wants to be just like me. Why is a mystery.

I sigh and turn towards him, wondering why Lacy is still smiling at me after I was just horrible to her. I'm not good enough to be in the same room as her, let alone have her smiling at me like that. "Rory," I mutter. I'm not good with other people. I used to be, but not any more. I hate people talking to me. It makes me uncomfortable.

"What have you been doing?", Rory demands skidding to a halt in front of me and glaring up at me from under his thick brown hair. "I looked everywhere for you."

I shrug and gesture at the food on the table. "I was just getting breakfast." I don't feel like talking but I can't bring myself to ignore him.

Rory looks impressed. "Wow! You robbed someone's house? That's so cool! Can I come next time?" He looks up at me with those enthusiastic puppy-dog eyes. I feel terrible.

Luckily Lacy interrupts before I have to answer him. "Go and wake up the others, Rory, tell them it's time for breakfast. We've got to start getting ready for the reaping soon." She gives him a gentle push towards towards the door and I see his small figure running off up the stairs.

I turn to Lacy. "Thanks," I mutter. "I don't know why he wants to be like me. I don't know why anyone would want to be like me. I'm sorry." I don't know what I am actually apologising for but it comes out before I have time to think about what I'm saying.

"Jason, you're a good person," Lacy tells me. I can tell by her tone of voice that she knows I won't believe her. "You do so much for the kids here." She gently takes my hand and squeezes. "Cheer up."

"It's not enough, though, is it? It doesn't make up for what I was like before. It doesn't bring my parents back." Even in my own ears my voice sounds hollow and dead. When did I become like this?

She opens her mouth to answer but at that second we hear footsteps clattering down the stairs and the rest of the children rush into the room chattering happily. I feel completely empty and emotionless as I turn and walk away from them, and so tired. I don't want to do this anymore.

* * *

><p>Once the escort has gone to meet the mayor his prep team collapse onto velvet sofas, fanning themselves and complaining loudly. "He is just so difficult," the woman with green hair, Dea, complains, "It's so unreasonable. It is hardly our fault if this ghastly district doesn't have any honeyed peaches. I mean, what were we supposed to do?" Her voice goes tearful and she dabs at her eyes with a lace sleeve.<p>

"I know, I know," her colleague, Linus, sympathises, patting her on the hand, "There is nothing we can do about it." He gets to his feet and pours them both a glass of wine. They have brought it all the way from the Capitol to enjoy while they wait for the reaping to finish. "Here, drink this and don't think about it." Holding out the glass to Dea he reaches for an expensive box of chocolates.

"Good!" Dea claps her hands and sits up, her tears already forgotten. "I love chocolate!" While outside the tributes are being chosen to go to their deaths in the Hunger Games they sit and delicately pick at their expensive treats.

* * *

><p><strong>Cordinia Foster, District Five<strong>

* * *

><p>The reapings started about five minutes ago. I am stood in the square surrounded by people and I hate it. None of them are closer to me than a few metres but I want to scream and rip their throats out. My eyes are fixed vacantly on the stage. I'm not taking in what is happening and I don't care.<p>

"Hey there, Cordinia," a soft voice purrs beside me.

I jump slightly and look around to see Raymond standing next to me. He has his hands shoved into his jeans pockets and the hood of his black jacket up covering his white hair. I smile my nasty little smile at him. "Raymond. I thought you were avoiding the reapings this year," I say.

The girl on Raymond's other side looks fearfully at me, like I've gone mad, and backs slowly even further away. Raymond and I both ignore her. "Yeah, I changed my mind. Thought I'd come and keep you company," he says casually and scans the square. "So, how are things?"

I lean closer to him and lower my voice. "I've seen _them_ again, Ray. _They_ were here in the square, following some boy. I saw _them_!"

Raymond also leans in so our heads are almost touching. "Which boy, Cordinia? Can you show me?" His pale grey eyes scan the crowd. It strikes me how similar we look, Raymond and I. We have the same hair and the same eyes. We could be siblings.

Turning away from him I try and find the boy again. The one _they _were following. It takes me a minute but I find him. He's in front of me on the boys' side of the square. He's small and skinny and his hair is black, his eyes blue. And _they _are still following him.

I tug on Raymond's sleeve and point. Several people shrink away from me but I don't pay them any attention. I'm too busy looking from Raymond to the boy.

Raymond is frowning slightly, his eyes almost glowing under his hood. He turns to me. "We have to _deal _with him, Cordinia," he hisses. His voice has gone low and cold and his eyes are deadly slits. "Just like we did with the last one. You remember? The boy who bullied us? The one we knocked unconscious, do you remember? And them we dragged him back to our house and tortured him to death and mutilated his body before burning it and scattering the pieces. Do you remember, Cordinia?" His voice is so low now I can barely hear it over the wind and his face has gone nasty, lips drawn back to reveal his slightly pointed teeth. He is practically panting with excitement, his eyes blazing like fire and ice at the same time.

I feel the same excitement burning in my veins, like cold flames. I shudder and nod, meeting his gaze.

"We'll do it after the reapings," Raymond snarls in my ear. His breath is like ice against the side of my neck and my hair feels like it is standing on end. "Wait for him to be alone. Then we can strike."

I nod again and look back at the boy. He doesn't seem to see _them_ hovering just behind him. In fact, he doesn't seem to see anything, his gaze is absent and vacant. I feel my face twist into the same expression as Raymond's as my eyes burn into the back of the boy's neck. "We're coming to get you," I hiss dangerously and beside me Raymond nods in agreement. Several of the girls let out small screams and trip over themselves to get away.

At that moment a voice from the stage cuts through my thoughts and our focus is broken. We look back at the stage, our movements synchronised. It's the District 5 escort with his silly capitol voice that makes me want to squeeze his neck until he can't say another word. I can tell from the look on Raymond's face that he feels the same. The man raises his voice and repeats: "Cordinia Foster!"

I glance sideways at Raymond, who smiles at me. Turning back towards the stage I let a sadistic smile play around my lips as I walk forwards, Raymond walking beside me. The other sixteen-year-olds back away from me and the older girls scramble frantically out of my way. My smile widens.

I reach the front and mount the steps onto the stage. Raymond is still right beside me but no one stops him. No one ever questions Raymond.

The escort is right in front of me. He is coming closer and reaching out a hand towards me. "He's trying to touch us!", Raymond wails. "Stop him!"

Deliberately, I make eye-contact with the man from the Capitol. He pauses with his hand outstretched, seeing something in my eyes he doesn't like and unsure of what to do. My smile gets even wider then I suddenly sink my teeth into my arm as deep as they will go, never breaking eye-contact with him. Pain explodes in my arm and I feel it shooting up and down from my fingers to my shoulder. I wrench my teeth free and smirk at the escort, blood dribbling down my chin and running down my arm, dripping from my fingers onto the stage.

"Lick it, lick it!", Raymond squeals and I raise my wounded arm to my mouth and lick away the blood. More immediately begins to flow again and I lick it a second time for good measure.

I can feel half the cameras zooming in on me and half of them pointing in the other direction which makes me smile even more. They don't know what to do with me. Do they film me or do they try and pretend this never happened?

Behind me Raymond is applauding and whooping as I stride past the escort onto the stage and take my place next to the podium, blood still pouring down my arm.

The capitol man looks frightened and confused but he rushes back to the podium staying as far away from me as possible. I turn to Raymond. "Look, Ray," I hiss and point to the man's formerly immaculate white suit, "he's got blood on him!" I giggle noisily and the crowd steps away from the stage in one movement.

"A-and the m-m-male t-tribute for D-d-district 5 is Jason Thesik", he calls, stumbling over his words. I get the feeling he wants to get this over with.

I scan the square. Jason Thesik means nothing to me. He must be related to me but I have never heard his name before. Then again, I don't even know the names of my parents and I am forced to endure their company every day.

"It's him, it's him!", Raymond howls. He is almost beside himself pointing down into the crowd.

I look over at him. "Who, Raymond?", I ask. Then I follow the direction of his pointing finger and I understand. It's the boy. And _they _are following him. He's making his way onto the stage. He's almost reached us.

"Do something! Quickly!", Raymond whines. "They're coming closer. They're coming to get us!"

I feel panic rising in my chest but I push it away and grope in my pockets for the length of wire that I always keep there. I can smell the metallic smell of blood and I can feel the blood thundering through my veins. My vision tunnels and all I can see is the boy. Jason Thesik. And _them_ behind him. Everything else has vanished, the noises, the smells, everything. It's just him and us. And _them._

"Do it, Cordinia, do it! Get him!", I hear Raymond shrieking. His voice hurts my head and I can feel my eardrums popping. "Kill him, kill him!"

I propel myself forwards, slipping and sliding in my own blood which has pooled at my feet. I hear an animalistic scream and I realise that it is coming from my own throat. Behind me Raymond is still screaming.

Briefly I see the boy's eyes widen, then I am upon him. I am taller than him and in no time I have the wire wound around his neck and am pulling with all my might. My heart is hammering and my head feels like it is about to explode, ringing with Raymond's screams. It's all too much, the noise, the excitement, the sensations. I can feel him choking and gasping, unable to draw breath. His hands are clawing at his throat and his nails are tearing at my hands. I begin to laugh. Quietly at first but then louder and louder until my laughter drowns out everything else. It is manic and terrifying and wonderful.

Then suddenly it all stops. I feel myself being wrenched away from the boy, my hands losing their grip on the wire around his throat and the rest of the stage re-materialises so suddenly it hurts my eyes.

I don't see what is happening around me, all I see is _them _hovering by the boy and giggling. In another futile effort I try and fling myself towards them again but peacekeepers are dragging me towards the Justice Building and I'm not strong enough to fight them.

Over their shoulders I catch sight of Raymond standing by the podium. His hood is still up, his hands still in his pockets and he is making no move to follow me. "Raymond!", I scream. "Raymond! Don't leave me! Raymond! They're going to close the doors and you won't be able to get to me! Raymond!" I kick and scream and struggle but there is nothing I can do. I am already through the doors and the peacekeepers are starting to pull them shut behind us.

Just before they close I see Raymond turn ever so slowly to look at me. He looks me right in the eye, a small smile playing about his lips. "It doesn't matter about the doors, Cordinia," he hisses. "I will always find you. I'm in your head."

* * *

><p>"Dea? Dea! Linus! Where are you?", a panicked voice shrieks. The escort for District 5 bursts frantically into the dressing room. His hair is a mess and he has blood on his suit. "Come quickly, there has been an incident! Oh, it was awful! I feel faint." Aulus sinks down onto a sofa, a hand clutched to his heart.<p>

Startled the prep team jump to their feet. "What is it? What's happened? Oh, I just knew this district was trouble," Dea wails and bursts into noisy floods of tears. "I just want to go home," she sobs with a hand over her face.

Not wanting to be outdone Aulus gasps and clutches at Linus' sleeve with shaking hands. "It's terrible. We could all lose our jobs! You have to do something!" He grabs the nearest glass of wine and takes a huge gulp. "She attacked him. That horrible girl attacked the male tribute. I've never seen anything so barbaric. He's all covered in blood and he has the most terrible bruises! You have to make him look presentable before he goes to the station! He can't go to the Capitol looking like he's just been in a fight! We must already be the laughingstock of the whole of Panem."

Linus reaches down and pulls Aulus to his feet. "We have to go and do something!", he exclaims, shaking the other man by the shoulders. Aulus nods, still looking shocked, and together the escort and the prep team rush from the room.


	9. District 6 Reaping

**Author's Note: Thanks to david12341 for Maverick and Krisy45 for Alay!**

**So, halfway through the reapings. I realise reapings may get a bit boring, so now D7 & D8 will be train rides, D9 & D10 will be the opening ceremony and D11 & D12 will be the tributes arriving at the Training Centre. Hope that's ok with everyone. I just can't stand any more reapings! And I figure no one will want to read many more anyway... :D What do you think?**

**Hope you like the chapter ;)**

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><p>On screens across Panem Caesar Flickerman's face appears, beaming at the nation. "And now we move on to the reaping in District 6! This is the halfway point. When we have these tributes we will have twelve of our twenty-four young heroes. Isn't it exciting!"<p>

Behind him pictures of the tributes who have been chosen so far are appearing one after the other on a large screen. Their expressions range from excited to terrified. The girl from District One tosses her hair and looks confidently straight into the camera, whereas the little boy from District Three hides his face in his fellow tribute's shoulder.

"We have had some exciting, moving and frankly quite alarming moments so far," Caesar whispers conspiratorially, looking behind him at the screen where a replay of the District 5 reaping is being shown. He shudders dramatically. "Can it get any more exciting? I hope so!" He laughs enthusiastically and smiles at the cameras.

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><p><strong>Maverick Nash, District Six<strong>

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><p>The distance from the door to the window is 8 feet. The room is 6 feet wide. Bear in mind that there are bunk beds taking up one wall and a sink  toilet in one corner with a table and chair in the other. The walls are made of steel, as is the floor and I guess the ceiling must be too. There is one window made of safety glass with steel bars, just to make doubly sure we can't get out, and the solid steel door with its metal flap so they can pass our meals through without opening the door.

Our clothes are grey tracksuits with light blue t-shirts under them. Our shoes do up with velcro, no laces are allowed, and we even have to wear standard issue underwear.

Every day we are allowed outside for an hour and at mealtimes. Meals consist of one drink, usually orange squash, a slice of bread, a tiny portion of salad and normally a pie with various different fillings. We are supposed to be allowed desert but we never are. Breakfast is even worse – runny porridge, which tastes and feels a bit like eating warm sick, and a cup of tea without milk. It's probably the most depressing meal ever.

I roll over on my bed and bang my head on the safety rail. A curse escapes my lips as I rub my head angrily. What a great start to the day.

From the bunk beneath me I hear a snort of laughter. "Good morning, Mav," Acadia calls up to me still sniggering. Infinity Acadia, known only by her surname. Sixteen years old. My cell mate. Sentenced to 4 years for theft.

I grunt in return and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, not bothering to climb down the ladder but just letting myself drop. I twist my ankle painfully as I land but I ignore it and pretend nothing happened. Acadia laughs again. "You're in a good mood this morning. Look on the bright side, the reapings mean we get to skip breakfast."

"Yeah, great," I answer mechanically before grabbing my clothes off the chair. I turn back to Acadia and raise an eyebrow at her. She over-dramatically sighs and turns away as I have a quick wash in the tiny sink and get dressed. Prisons are usually same-sex, so it's unusual that I share a cell with a girl. Basically, as far as we can work out, there was a clerical error when assigning the cells and no one has bothered to sort it out. It suits us just fine, though, so we're not complaining. Over the past two years we have become quite good friends.

"So what d'you think of the reapings?", Acadia asks casually. She's leaning back on her bed with her hands folded behind her head and her legs crossed trying to look casual. She does that a lot when she's tense. I remember she lounged around like that all day before her trial trying to kid everyone she was fine with it. Back then I didn't know her well enough to know she was faking, I thought she really was cool with the whole situation. "You'd think they'd let us off, wouldn't you? You know with us being in prison and all."

I shrug and sit down on her bed beside her. "I thought I might volunteer."

Acadia sits up so fast she nearly brains herself on the bunk above. "Have you gone mad, Mav?", she exclaims. "Why would you want to volunteer, it's a death sentence!"

"I can't stand it in here," I say, shrugging again. "Everyone is always telling us what to do and there are so many rules it makes my head hurt. And I hate feeling like I'm stuck in a cage with no way out." It's true. I can't stand it in here any more. It's driving me mad. It's not the whole truth but it's all I'm telling Acadia. The other thing is I'm sacred of being on my own. Her sentence is only 4 years and 2 of those years have already passed. She'll be out of here soon and I'll be left alone. I can't bear the thought. It actually makes me feel ill and break out in a cold sweat. Locked in here, alone, with no way out. I would go mad for sure.

"That is actually insane!", Acadia yelps. She leans forward and grabs my arm, shaking it hard. I can feel her nails digging into my skin. "You've already done 2 years, you just need to last another..."

"Thirteen?", I say quietly.

She ignores me. "Do you even have any female relatives? You might not even be eligible."

Honestly, I don't really care. I probably have a cousin or something somewhere and if I don't I'll just try and bluff it. I can always tell them their records are wrong and I do actually have a cousin the right age. If I insist there isn't much they can do about it. They'll probably be glad to get rid of a nasty criminal like me. There is my sister Dixie but she is only eleven. I'm glad she's not old enough, I remember her being bubbly and friendly and I really did care about her so I wouldn't want to be against her.

"Mav, you can't do this, it's stupid!", Acadia is still going on at me trying to convince me to change my mind. I know I won't. I _need _to get out of here, I can't stand it any more. Even dying in the arena would be better than being locked in this cell alone with only my thoughts for company. I have to volunteer. It's the only way.

Before she can say any more the door opens and a guard appears in the doorway. He's holding two sets of manacles – handcuffs and shackles attached to each other with a long piece of chain. They are designed to make running away impossible. As if we'd get very far even if we did try to escape.

"Against the wall," he shouts. "9430 over here, 8792 by the window."

Acadia jumps to her feet and does as he says. I stand up very slowly and glare at him. "I have a name," I growl, surprised at how firm my voice sounds.

The guard sighs. He's been 'looking after' us for a while and I think he's got used to me by now. "Not in here you don't, 9430. You've just got a number. Now stand against the wall." He gives me a shove in the right direction. I don't move. "Stop making trouble and just do as you're told," he growls furiously.

I stand my ground. I can't help it, I hate being told what to do. "Make me, Guard 4," I snap back.

"It's Guard Brunel to you!" I can see he's starting to get angry and lose his patience. A pulse in his temple is throbbing and he's gone an angry shade of red. I can hear the chains in his hands clanking as he clenches his fists.

I smirk. "Not very nice being called by a number, is it?"

"You little...", he shouts and grabs me by the back of my tracksuit, slamming me into the wall. I can hear the manacles rattling and feel the cold metal being locked into place around my wrists and ankles. Then he lets go and moves over to Acadia before stepping back. "Time to go! Hurry up!"

I turn round slowly, partly to annoy him and partly because it is actually extremely hard to walk with your hands and ankles chained together. In front of me Acadia is already waddling out of the door. She looks over her shoulder and gives me a look warning me to calm down. She always was the more sensible one.

Obediently I follow her out of the room. Normally there is no way I would give in that easily and do as I'm told but today I need to get to the reaping. I don't have time to delay.

We waddle out into the yard where the other convicts who are still reaping age are gathered and the moment we arrive the head warden gives the command to move out. Clearly we were the last two.

Twenty guards accompany us to the square. There are 32 of us, 23 boys and 9 girls. People all stop and stare at us as we are marched past. Some even cross the street to avoid us. They treat us like we are some sort of dangerous criminals and it makes me angry. We're only kids.

We walk past it so quickly that I nearly miss it. On the corner of two streets is a tiny shop selling engine parts and other assorted mechanical equipment. Even though I am the other side of the street I know it smells of oil and warm metal and rubber. I can almost hear the battered old radio playing, the music almost drowned out by the crackling interference. The ring of the bell when someone enters the shop. The clanging of metal parts being stacked on metal shelves. My parents' shop.

I stop. My head is reeling and I feel like I am about to be sick. It's the first time I've seen the shop since... I feel myself breaking out in a cold sweat and I shudder with fear. _The bell rings, a man comes in. Over his head he is wearing a stocking, he is dressed all in black. In his hands he is holding a sawn-off shotgun. I am behind the counter and he is shouting at me to give him the money. I have never felt so afraid in all my life. I am stumbling forwards to open the till, everything is swimming. He is coming towards me and I don't know what to do. If he takes the money we will be ruined. We will lose our house and our shop. The gun is pointing right at my head as he rummages in the till. I don't know what to do. My parents only left me in charge for a few minutes. I am so afraid. He's going to kill me._

A hand roughly shoves me in the back, nearly knocking me off my feet. "Get moving!", Guard Brunel growls. He clearly still hasn't forgiven me for earlier.

"Say please!", I retort. Inside I am terrified but I can't let it show. I give him a sarcastic smirk and hope that my legs aren't about to give way.

He shoves me again. "Now, smart aleck, unless you want to be carried."

We've nearly reached the square anyway so I decide it's better to walk. I'm pretty sure I can force myself to get that far without collapsing and anything is better than being carried or dragged by one of the guards. "I'll walk, thanks," I sneer. "You already control enough of my life as it is."

He opens his mouth to respond but I quickly force myself to start walking again. _Just a few more meters. Not far now. _

I arrive in the square just behind the other prisoners. The mayor has just finished his speech and the escort is stepping up to the podium. We're late. The other kids shrink away from us and the people round the edges of the square eye us with mistrust like we might suddenly try and murder their precious children. We look a sorry sight all dressed in our grey tracksuits and chains, especially as everyone else is dressed in their best clothes.

I take a few calming breaths and glance at Acadia who is frantically shaking her head at me. The escort is moving towards the girls' reaping ball. I take a deep breath. "I volunteer as tribute!", I shout as loudly as I can.

Everyone goes silent and turns to stare at me. I march confidently to the stage, at least I try to. My legs are shaking and I am hampered by the chains. I wish Acadia was here with me. I don't like being alone.

On the stage there seems to be some confusion. The mayor, escort and mentors are all deep in discussion. They don't seem to know whether I am allowed to volunteer yet or not. I open my mouth to point out that it's only fair seeing as how if they choose the girl and I'm not related to her I won't be allowed to volunteer, when the escort interrupts me. "What's your name?", he snaps at me. "How old are you?"

"Maverick Nash. I'm 14," I tell him, trying to sound confident and slightly arrogant, like I know that I'm right and I'm allowed to be volunteering.

He turns back to the others and they continue their whispered discussion leaving me standing in the middle of the stage with everyone staring at me, alone and frightened.

* * *

><p><strong>Alay Yennings, District Six<strong>

* * *

><p>"You know he killed somebody," my friend Abby whispers to me as we stand waiting for the escort, the mayor and the mentors to make up their minds whether or not this boy is allowed to compete in the Hunger Games. She nods animatedly at my shocked expression. "I heard he shot someone and that's why he's in prison."<p>

I don't quite know what to say to this. Why exactly does Abby think I care? It has nothing to do with me what this boy did. I just feel sorry for any female relatives of his who are going to be chosen now, when they might have been safe before. It doesn't seem fair really. Then again, if a girl volunteered I guess her relatives don't get a say either, so this is no more unfair then that.

"He's only fourteen," I whisper back to Abby, "I doubt he shot somebody. It's probably just a rumour." My friend opens her mouth to answer just as the escort steps forwards again.

He clears his throat. "We have come to the decision that Maverick Nash...," he pauses and I can tell that the whole district is waiting with baited breath to hear what he is about to say, "will be allowed to compete in this year's Quarter Quell!"

The sigh of relief around me is audible. Girls who now know they are safe turn to their friends with wide grins on their faces, already silently celebrating their good luck. I turn to Abby and beam at her. To my knowledge I only have one male cousin, who I have never met. That means I must be safe too.

Abby gives me a subtle thumbs-up and smiles back at me. We have a celebration planned for after the reaping, Abby, me and my other two friends James and Cody. My older brother Hayden organised it. He's got us some nice food and we are going to all sleep at my house. Now that I am no longer scared of the reaping I'm excited for our little party. I bounce up and down impatiently on the balls of my feet. How much longer can this reaping take?

"And that means our female tribute is..." I am no longer really listening. My thoughts are already somewhere else entirely. I am just waiting for the reaping to be over so that I can go home again. "Alay Yennings!" Poor girl, I think briefly and look around to see if I can see who has been picked.

Then I notice Abby is giving me a funny look. In fact all around me people are turning to look in my direction. "What?", I whisper to my friend, but she just shakes her head slowly and points shakily to the stage.

"Alay Yennings!", the escort, whose name I don't know, calls again, a note of impatience creeping into his voice.

Suddenly it hits me. That's my name. They are calling me. I have been chosen. Slowly I make my feet move towards the stage. I have to fight to keep the emotions off my face as a walk through the silent crowd. This cannot be happening to me. I only have one cousin. It can't be this boy, this criminal. I've never so much as returned a library book late. I can't be related to a boy who is supposed to have shot somebody. My knees are shaking so badly that I almost stumble as I reach the steps onto the stage. Just in time I put out a hand and steady myself.

"Come on up, Alay," the escort calls in a falsely cheerful voice and beckons to me. Underneath his joviality I can sense that he is angry. The reaping has turned into a disaster, with this boy volunteering unexpectedly, and the last thing they need is a girl who is going to faint or something. They don't even know if what they have decided is allowed, so they just want to get into the Justice Building and contact the Capitol to find out whether they still have their jobs after this escapade.

Slowly I mount the steps and stand beside the boy, Maverick. My best dress looks ridiculously smart next to his scruffy prison outfit. I suddenly feel self-conscious and overdressed. I know how silly this is as I am going to be killed soon and I should be frightened, not worrying about my clothes. It just doesn't seem to have sunk in. I can't grasp that I am a tribute. Every year we watch kids killing each other in a hundred different way and now that is going to be me. I am going to have to enter that arena and chose between my life and the lives of other innocent children.

The mayor moves to the front of the stage to read the Treaty of Treason. Nobody in the square is listening any more though. They are all to relieved that they or their children are safe for another year.

I turn to look at the boy beside me and wonder if I will be able to kill him in the arena. We are technically related. I'm sure if I killed him the whole district would hate me. I hope I don't have to. I shudder and look away. Is this what I am going to be like now? Weighing up the deaths of innocent people.

Beside me the mayor stops speaking and beckons for me to shake hands with my cousin. Reluctantly I take his hand and give it the briefest of squeezes before letting go again as if he's burnt me. I don't trust people easily and shaking hands with a possible murderer is not something I relish the though of doing.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this year's tributes!", the escort shouts and gestures grandly at us. It's almost comical how hard he is trying to cover up their moment of indecision earlier. In any other situation I would have been sniggering by this point, but I see nothing funny about the situation now.

We are lead into the Justice Building by a group of peacekeepers, who I could have sworn looked slightly smug at the sight of the other tribute, my cousin I remind myself, still in his prison clothes and handcuffs. Suddenly I find it incredibly embarrassing that I have to be the one who has a criminal for a fellow tribute. It just isn't fair. It will reflect badly on me and I won't get any sponsors.

As the heavy doors of the Justice Building fall shut behind us with a loud bang I suddenly feel very scared and alone.


	10. District 7 Train Ride

**Author's Note: Thanks to aprilgirl01 for Jack and UltimateMaxmericaShipper for Lilac. **

**Sorry this chapter took so long, the new semester just started at uni and it's been quite hectic :D**

**Can't think of anything else to put in the author's note... Umm... Enjoy the chapter? :D**

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><p><strong>Jack Hollister, District Seven<strong>

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><p>My room on the train is like nothing I have ever seen before. At home we are not exactly starving, we have enough, but this is something else entirely. Do people actually live like this? I suppose they must do in the Capitol. Everybody must have a dressing room and a huge bathroom off their bedroom. They would probably be shocked to see our little house back home. To Capitol citizens it would probably be the equivalent of a garden shed or something, rather than a family home. Actually I don't even know if they have gardens in the Capitol. I make a mental note to look, if I get the chance. Not that I will, probably. Still it would be interesting to see how the people in the Capitol actually live and if it's how I have always pictured it.<p>

Slowly I wander across my, in my opinion, vast room to look out of the window. As I stand with my forehead resting on the cool glass I can watch the houses and forests of District 7 flashing by me. The train is going so fast that my eyes don't have time to focus on the passing scenery before it's gone again. I can barely feel any movement at all, though. We could almost still be stationary. It's a little unnerving. Hastily I turn away from the window again before the motion makes me feel queasy.

In an hour we are supposed to be having dinner and meeting our mentors for the first time. It is important that Lilac and I make a good first impression on them. After all, they are the ones who are going to be helping us to stay alive in the arena.

To keep my mind off the arena and the fact that my little sister is going to be there with me, with people trying to kill her, I focus on what I am going to wear for dinner instead. It doesn't entirely rid me of the feeling of dread that settled over me at the reaping, but it helps.

I select a simple, navy shirt and smart, dark trousers. It's not something I would wear at home, but it looks sufficiently like I have made an effort with my appearance. Looking critically at myself in the full-length mirror on the wall by the door I try my best to smooth my wavy, unmanageable, blond hair down. The moment I move my hands it springs back. I sigh. Never mind, I'm sure the mentors are not going to care how my hair looks.

There is a knock on my door and it opens before I can say anything. My sister, Lilac, is stood in the doorway. She has changed into a deep, sea green dress that matches the colour of her eyes. I have to admit she looks amazing. At home she never wears dresses, so this is probably the first time I've ever seen her in one. She pulls the door shut behind her and grins at me. "Hey, Lila," I grin back, "You look... different."

"Yeah, there were some amazing outfits to choose from." She shrugs as if she genuinely hasn't noticed how good she looks. Actually, knowing Lilac she probably hasn't. "I've been thinking about what we are going to do in the arena, you know with alliance and stuff. Have you had any thoughts on it yet?" Helping herself to one of the plush chairs by the window Lilac looks up at me expectantly.

If I'm being honest I've been trying not to think too much about the arena. I don't relish the though of people trying to kill us. Then again, I suppose I won't be able to put thinking about a strategy off for ever. Maybe it's better to come up with something with Lilac before asking our mentors. After all, we know each other better than they do. "I was thinking we should team up..." I pause, trying to think of anything else.

Lilac rolls her eyes. "Of course we're going to team up. I'm not going to leave you wandering around on your own. You might get killed." It briefly occurs to me that I should be saying that as the older sibling, but I would probably just offend Lilac. She doesn't need looking after. "Anyway, I was thinking that we should keep a low profile. You know, find somewhere safe with food and water and stay there," Lilac suggests. Actually that is sort of the plan I would have come up with too. Neither of us are exactly the 'hunting down other tributes' type.

I nod my head in agreement. "That's what I would have said too. I don't really want to fight anybody else unless I absolutely have to." I let myself sink down into the chair beside my sister. "We should try and grad some stuff from the Cornucopia though too. I don't fancy being caught without a weapon," I point out. I can handle a weapon fairly well, so can Lilac, in fact so can all our siblings. We haven't had any actually training, not like the Career tributes, but since we were old enough to use them we have been practicing using axes or knives. Lilac has even learned to use a javelin. It's not hard to find an axe in District 7 and then all you need is a quiet place where you won't be disturbed to practice using it as a weapon. It seemed like a good idea, in case we were to ever be reaped.

Straight away Lilac sees the sense in getting our hands on weapons, even if it does mean risking the bloodbath. She nods. "Some supplies and weapons would be good... and there are two of us. If we worked together we could grab some stuff quickly and then we could run for it while the others are still fighting. We should suggest this to our mentors. I think it might work."

Now that we have agreed on a plan, temporarily at least, we both fall silent, neither of us sure what to say. I can tell that Lilac, like me, is trying to avoid mentioning home or our family and how they must be feeling now. I can just picture them all sat in the kitchen with the shutters closed, while the rest of the district celebrates that their children are safe for another year. The thought of home makes me feel sad.

For something to do I get to my feet and pace up and down the room. Surely the hour before dinner must be up by now. Suddenly I feel impatient to meet the mentors and get started. If I have to take part in the Hunger Games then I would much rather get it over with. Anything is better than waiting for something to happen. I hate sitting here dwelling on the things I will miss.

I am about to say this to Lilac when there is a sharp rap on the door and the escort, Fausta, sticks her head into the room. "Oh, then you are," she coos when she sees Lilac, "I looked in your room, but it was empty. I was just _so _worried. You shouldn't just go wandering off like that." She bustles into the room and envelops Lilac in a bone-crushing hug. Over her shoulder my sister rolls her eyes at me as she frees herself from the escort's grip.

"We were just talking," I explain patiently as Fausta continues to fuss and tell Lilac off. Actually I find the escort quite funny. She doesn't seem like a real person to me. More like a fluffy little dog or something. I grin subtly at Lilac and she grins back. Are all people in the Capitol like this? I can't help wondering how they are in charge of running the country if they are. Maybe it's just people who work in television. They could be more image-conscious than everybody else. Surely the whole Capitol can't be full of people with ridiculous outfits, who spend their days gossiping and watching the Hunger Games. Then again, maybe it is.

"Come along, children. Time for dinner." Fausta grabs me by the hand and drags me to the door. I have to resist the urge to pull my hand out of hers. I don't want to seem rude on the very first day. "Just wait until you try the food," our escort gushes, "You'll love it. Hurry up, come along now." Obediently we both follow her out into the corridor.

When we enter, the dinning room is warm and filled with the delicious smell of food. In the middle of the room a large table has been set for five people. Two of the chairs are already occupied by our mentors. I recognise Johanna Mason straight away, but I only vaguely remember the guy, who introduces himself as Blight. I think the year he won the arena was some kind of desert, but I'm not sure. As I have never been a huge fan of the Games I could be thinking of the wrong person.

"Come in, come in. Sit down, dinner will be served any minute." Fausta beckons us over to the table and waves a hand at the empty chairs. Blight gets up and pulls out a chair for Lilac, who thanks him and sits down. I take the seat beside her. Then I notice Johanna is watching us both intently. She seems to be weighing up whether or not we are going to be any good. Then Lilac turns to talk to her and she is distracted. They seem to be getting on surprisingly well for people who have only just met each other. Within seconds they are laughing about something like old friends.

Fausta sits down beside me. "You are going to love this," she trills, "the food will be like nothing you have ever tasted before. Poor things, you've probably never had a decent meal in your lives." She looks all sympathetic and pats my hand, so I just smile at her. I don't bother to point out that we manage just fine and are not starving. In comparison to her we probably are. She probably has banquets every day or something, for all I know.

"Try not to eat too much," Blight recommends as he takes his seat opposite me, "I did when I was a tribute and I spent the whole journey to the Capitol in agony." At that moment the food is brought in and all thoughts of taking his advice go straight out of the window.

The meal tastes as wonderful as it smelt when we first came in. We start with leak and potato soup with fresh rolls to dip into it. Then we have salad, steak with thick, spicy potato wedges, a cheese platter, fruit and an amazing lemon drizzle cake. As we eat we all avoid talking about the Games. Instead we discuss the weather, a recent disease that has been affecting the trees back home, travel to and from work, in short, anything that will keep our minds off what we are about to face.

Once we have all finished eating Johanna gets to her feet and stretches. "Time to watch the reapings," she says and I think I can detect a hint of bitterness in her voice. Perhaps, like me, she is not looking forward to seeing the other tributes, the ones we are going to have to kill if we want to make it home alive. _But we won't both make it home alive_, a snide little voice in the back of my head says,_ one of us has to die._ I try to block out the unwelcome thought, but it keeps coming back as we all make our way through into another room to watch the recap of the reapings. If I want to live then Lilac will have to die.

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><p><strong>Lilac Hollister, District Seven<strong>

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><p>We all head down the panelled corridor and into yet another compartment. This one seems to be as richly furnished as our bedrooms and the dining car. A giant television, the biggest I have ever seen, hangs on the wall opposite the door. The curtains are crushed velvet in a deep wine-red and the room is full of chairs and sofas in the same material in pale gold with deep-red cushions. The window which takes up a whole wall has a long window-seat running along it covered in red and gold cushions. By the door is a mahogany table laden with a steaming jug, some mugs and a tower of little cakes. I would be tempted by them if I wasn't so full. A couple of mahogany side-tables and a pot plant in an ostentatious gold pot complete the room.<p>

I sit down on the nearest sofa and tuck my feet up under me. Blight is stood by the door pouring some sort of steaming liquid into mugs and Johanna has taken the seat by the window. She's staring out at the landscape flashing past. Fausta is fussing about somewhere in the background fluffing up cushions. Jack comes over and sits down next to me, offering me a nervous grin. I grin back and turn to the TV.

The screen goes black and then the Capitol seal appears to a loud chorus of the anthem. Just as the music finishes Caesar Flickerman's face appears. He is sat in a massive poisonous green chair to match his hair. The effect is actually rather frightening and I stifle a snort of laughter. Next to me I see Jack smile slightly.

"Hello and welcome to this year's reaping recap!" Caesar beams at the camera. "Weren't the reapings exciting?" He nods vigorously and gives his trademark laugh. I can hear the studio audience cheering in agreement in the background. "This is the first time the tributes will see the reapings from the other Districts. They're on their way to the Capitol _right now _and they'll all be watching. Let's give them a huge hello, folks!" The camera pans round to show various garish audience members stamping their feet and cheering. Some of them are even waving at the cameras and I notice a couple are holding up signs with the name of their favourite tributes painted on them.

A soft click of pottery on glass makes me glance away from the TV screen. Blight has put one of the steaming mugs in front of each of us. He offers us both a small smile and goes over to sit by Johanna. I take a sip of the warm liquid and find it is thick, creamy hot chocolate. There is a layer of cream on top and what seems to be real grated chocolate. It's delicious. I take a huge gulp and burn my mouth, glancing over at Blight thankfully while trying to stop my eyes from streaming. Way to make myself look good.

Through a veil of tears I can just make out Caesar on the screen. He has got up from his seat and is pointing to a screen next to him. The lights in the studio dim and an image of the main square in District One appears. I recognise it from all the reaping recaps we have been forced to watch over the years. The mayor makes his way out onto the stage followed by a tiny little woman and this year's mentors for District One. I can't help myself, my eyes immediately stray to Gloss. He looks so handsome in a tight white shirt and silver jacket. Honestly, he seems to get more handsome every year.

Jack jabs me in the ribs with an elbow and I jump guiltily and grin sheepishly at him. "Sorry," I mouth. He rolls his eyes at me and looks back at the screen.

They seem to have shortened the speech because the escort is already drawing the girl's name. The camera zooms in on a slim girl with long chocolate-brown plaits and huge brown eyes. She looks briefly disconcerted but then beams delightedly and strides confidently towards the stage. She glances around the square and then shrugs apologetically at someone. I wonder who she's looking at and why she looks apologetic. Maybe she's sorry she was reaped after all.

The scene cuts to the boy's name being read out. He has quite a charming smile and he actually looks quite nice.

The lights in the studio go up and Caesar appears again on the screen. "So what do you think of our District One tributes, folks?", he asks the studio audience. "Sterling and Velvet are 16 years old and they happen to be twins. Isn't it exciting?"

He continues to ramble on but his voice is drowned out by Johanna. "Be careful of them," she says loudly enough to make herself heard over Caesar laughing. "They might be only sixteen, but they'll be trained. Look at the girl's reaction. She has been told how to act. They'll be deadly." Blight nods in agreement but doesn't speak.

Jack throws me a glance but neither of us quite know what to say. It's not exactly unexpected, the careers are always deadly. I take another gulp of hot chocolate to cover the awkward silence.

District Two flashes up on Caesar's screen and he over-dramatically turns to peer at it. Some kid called Valerie Slate is called but before she can even move a 13-year-old volunteers. I find I'm kind of scared of her. She's pretty but there is something mean about her. Her brother turns out to be 18 and looks nothing like her. He glares at her when they shake hands and I notice she winces in pain as he grips her hand.

Both Johanna and Blight are sitting forward in their seats, staring intently at the District two tributes. "That's interesting", Blight mutters.

"What is?", Jack asks.

"The career alliance. They clearly hate each other," I say before either of the mentors can speak. Johanna nods slightly and Blight looks impressed that I noticed. "What do we do about it?", I turn to Johanna. "If they don't team up doesn't that leave the careers more vulnerable?"

She nods and grins slightly. She looks a bit like a shark that has caught a whiff of blood. "If Two won't work together the careers will have to pick one of them. I guess they'll chose the boy unless she has exceptional skills." She glances at the TV where Caesar is talking about something and watching the District Three reaping. The boy is crying into the girl's shoulder and trembling. I rule them out as basically harmless - she'll be protecting him and he only looks about twelve and is clearly terrified. I feel a brief pang of sadness. He reminds me a bit of my littlest brother Benji. Quickly I push the thought away and focus on Johanna again.

"So what does that mean for us?", Jack wants to know, looking uncertainly between the two mentors.

"It means there are less careers, stupid," I snap impatiently. The hurt look on his face makes me instantly regret it. "Sorry, Jack," I mumble uncomfortably. He brushes it off and smiles at me. That's the great thing about Jack, he's so calm and understanding. Unlike me.

"Not just that," Blight adds, "they might always be open to adding tributes from other districts to their alliance. They might not be comfortable with being one short. You never know, if you are skilled..."

Johanna cuts him off sharply. "That depends on the District Four tributes. If they're strong they won't need anyone else. Let's see them before we talk about alliances, right?" She glares at him as if challenging him to argue. Blight just shrugs and turns his attention back to the TV.

Caesar shows the whole of the reaping for District Four. Some girl is called but the camera stays trained on her friend who is crying and looking around frantically. She actually collapses and has to be steadied by another girl next to her, before literally shrieking that she volunteers and frantically stumbling onto the stage still in floods of tears. I notice Finnick Odair subtly hand her a tissue and give her shoulder a comforting squeeze.

The boy volunteers too, but he is different. Even I can tell he's well trained. He's 18, tall, strong and handsome. I can immediately see him being a Capitol favourite and glance nervously at our mentors. "And?", I ask.

Johanna shrugs. "Well she's clearly a waste of space," she snaps. "He's dangerous. I don't see them wanting her in the alliance unless he insists."

"That might mean there are two less careers this year," Jack mutters. We exchange looks and I can tell we're both thinking the same thing: are we skilled enough to make it into the career alliance? It's a brilliant opportunity and would drastically improve our chances of staying alive. Hopefully.

Johanna is clearly thinking the same thing because she's eyeing us carefully as if sizing us up. When she sees me watching her she shrugs and turns away. "We'll talk about it tomorrow when we talk about strategy. Right now we're supposed to be weighing up the other tributes."

"I can multitask, you know", I snap back. It wasn't supposed to come out sounding quite so prickly but I'm annoyed that she was staring at me like I'm some kind of object and that she won't discus strategy with us. Surely we can weigh up the other tributes' strengths and weaknesses in training or something.

Jack puts a warning hand on my shoulder and squeezes slightly. I throw him a withering look but don't say anything else.

Caesar is back on screen twirling a lock of bright green hair around his finger and beaming at us. "So here is the reaping from District Five, with some scenes younger viewers may find upsetting," he says, putting on what I can only assume to be his serious face. He looks a bit like he's got painful stomach cramps, actually, and I have to bite back a snigger.

On screen we see a girl heading towards the stage. She is probably one of the creepiest people I've ever seen, really pale with basically white hair and pale grey eyes. Even her smile is unfriendly and chilling and it doesn't surprise me that the other District Five kids are scrambling to get out of her way. She walks up onto the stage and as the escort reaches out to help her she sinks her teeth into her own arm.

I can actually feel my jaw drop and a horrified gasp from behind me tells me that Fausta has finished playing with the cushions and is watching too. Blight looks like he feels a bit sick but Johanna's face is completely neutral. Jack is watching the girl nervously, clearly not exactly thrilled at the prospect of being stuck in the arena with her.

In stunned silence we all watch her lick the blood off her arm and stand there talking and muttering to herself. When the boy walks onto the stage she lets out a screech and flings herself on him, clearly trying to garrote him with some wire she pulled out of her pocket. The peacekeepers drag her off him and into the Justice Building, screaming for someone called Raymond. I wonder who he is, maybe a brother or something, I can't imagine her having any friends. The boy is hurried off the stage still coughing and choking. I was so focused on her I didn't even notice what he looked like.

There is a resounding silence.

"So I guess we should stay away from her?", Jack suggests eventually.

I giggle and it seems to break the tension. Johanna gets up and fetches herself one of the little cakes and refills her mug. I notice she fetches Blight a cake too. Clearly she cares about him more than she's letting on.

I turn away from them and watch Caesar comforting a hysterical audience who have got a taste of blood and are now baying for more. By now I am starting to feel fed up of reapings and wish the recap could just be over so I can go to bed. My head is pounding and I'm tired.

District Six is unusual because he's a convict, but his district partner is just another scared girl, neither of them seem like a threat. Caesar seems fascinated by them, going into exactly what he was arrested for, the studio audience gasping in all the right places.

I try to ignore my own reaping. I know they'll be showing close-ups of my father and brothers and I don't want to see it. The memory of them coming to say goodbye to me is still too painful. I can still see them all in my mind: Dad staring down at the carpet, looking like he's losing Mum all over again, 8-year-old Benjamin sobbing and clinging to me, my oldest brother Rowan giving me an apologetic sad smile, Levi, Jack's twin, wandering round the room looking at the books not even paying me any attention, 14-year-old Aspen for once unable to think of any jokes to lighten the mood. I bite my tongue hard and refuse to let my emotions show on my face.

"Well, it could have been worse," Johanna comments, bringing me back to the present. "Neither of you looked too happy or too sad so we still have a choice as to our strategy." Blight nods in agreement and I find myself nodding too, although I'm not really sure why.

The rest of the reapings pass in a bit of a blur. I'm so tired I just want to get to bed and this feels like the longest day ever. I feel completely drained. Blight, Johanna and Jack keep up a conversation about what's happening but I refuse to join in. I know it's important to get our mentors to like me but I don't want to make the effort right now. I'm not going to pretend everything's fine just for their benefit.

I only get a vague impression of the other tributes after that: the little boy from District Nine starts screaming and crying, so does the girl from Ten. Their district partners both look excited, I don't know why. The pair from Eight seem calm, Eleven look petrified and clutch each others hands while on stage, the Twelve boy swears and his district partner looks surprisingly unfazed for a 12-year-old.

Finally, Caesar appears on our screen again. "And that's it for the reapings, folks!", he exclaims. "Wasn't it brilliant? Don't forget to tune in tomorrow evening for the Opening Ceremony. I can't wait to see what our stylists do with the tributes this year!"

As the anthem begins playing for the end of the programme, I hear a derisive snort from Johanna. "If it's trees again, I'll personally gut the stylist and make him wear his bowels as a bobble hat!"

Blight laughs and pats her shoulder soothingly. Then he turns to Jack and I. "I suggest we all get some sleep now and we'll discuss our plans tomorrow morning. If that sounds ok to you?"

Beside me Jack nods and gets up. I follow his example and Fausta leads us back along the corridor to our rooms. "Get plenty of sleep, my dears," she twitters. "You've got a big day ahead of you tomorrow and we want you looking your best!"


	11. District 8 Train Ride

**Author's Note: Thanks to Jms2 for Patch and Lacy. :)**

**Sorry this update took so long. We've been really busy and fanfiction was being weird yesterday... :D**

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><p><strong>Lacy Polka, District Eight<strong>

* * *

><p>When I open my eyes it takes me a few seconds to understand where I am and what's happening. I am not at home in my cosy little bedroom where I should be. The room is far too grand and I'm asleep in a four poster bed wearing rich silk pajamas. This isn't right.<p>

I frown and try to get my brain into gear. What's going on?

It suddenly hits me and I close my eyes and let my head fall back onto the soft, luxurious pillow. Of course. The reaping. I groan inwardly and roll over, burying my face in the pillow. Now my brain has woken up properly I can remember vividly what happened; the District Eight escort Lucanus calling out my name, walking towards the stage trying to keep a straight face, looking over at my parents and seeing the devastation on their faces, knowing they will lose both their children, my brother Patch coming to stand beside me, face unreadable as ever.

I groan again and punch the pillow. This isn't fair. It's still very early, not even light outside, so I close my eyes and try to get to sleep again but there is a nagging thought in the back of my mind that is demanding attention, refusing me sleep.

Sighing, I pull myself out of bed and wrap a fluffy, fleece dressing gown around me, wandering over to look out of the window. I'm not really taking in the scenery, what little I can make out in the dark, but I assume we must be getting close to the Capitol by now. Great, the one place I hate more than anywhere else, the one place I never wanted to go.

I lean my head against the cool glass and close my eyes. My mind goes back to the Quarter Quell announcement. I remember I was so angry that day that I stormed out of the house before President Snow had even finished the announcement. It seemed so unfair, not that the Games aren't unfair normally, but to take two members of the same family, to deprive one family of two of their children is so much worse. As if losing one child isn't bad enough. Knowing that one, probably both of your children are never going to come home, being faced with the possibility that if it came down to it, one might have to murder the other is just unthinkable. It's so wrong.

I ball my hands into fists just thinking about it and have to force myself to relax and take deep, calming breaths. Better to avoid another episode like last time. I cringe slightly as I remember it: running out into the street, shouting about how unfair this Quarter Quell was and how President Snow should be ashamed of himself. How would he like it if we murdered 23 Capitol kids? Strangely enough, it didn't take long for the peacekeepers to show up after that.

I know what I did was right and I can't bring myself to regret it, but what did it achieve in the end? All it got me was another whipping, the third in my eighteen years. _And you think it's coincidence that you and Patch were reaped this year?_, a snide little voice in the back of my head asks.

Taking another deep breath, I open my eyes and look around the room trying to focus on something else. Of course it's coincidence. The reapings can't be rigged, someone would know about it. Anyway, someone has to stand up for what's right, even if it doesn't do anything to change things. It's on principal. If I don't stand up to them, who will? They'll just keep doing whatever they like and no one will even try to stop them!

Taking my mind off things clearly isn't working so I decide to go for a walk. Maybe I can find Patch and see if he's still awake or something.

I carefully slip on a pair of furry slipper and wrap the dressing gown tighter around myself. On my way out of the room I pass a mirror and it strikes me how unlike myself I look. I still have the same long, dirty blonde hair, the same hazel eyes but standing in this ridiculously luxurious room wrapped in expensive clothes I look foreign even to myself, like a normal girl lost in a fantasy world. I wonder what my parents would say if they could see me now.

The door opens silently and I slip quietly out into the paneled corridor beyond. Everything is dark and I can't even see so much as a sliver light under any of the doors. I grope my way blindly along, one hand on the paneled wall counting doors. There are no windows and not even the faintest hint of moonlight to light my way. I find myself wishing that I had left my bedroom door open, then at least I'd have had some light to see by.

I pass three doors on the left and stop. The train corridor is disorientating, one door feels exactly like the next and the panelling on the walls never changes. I try and think back to earlier when our escort first showed us to our rooms. I'm fairly sure Patch's door was quite a way away from mine and on the other side of the corridor. Carefully I grope my way to the other side of the corridor and my fingers meet with a cold metal door handle. Judging by the distance I have travelled from my room, this could be his door.

I turn the handle and slip inside, groping around for the light switch. It takes me a minute to find it but when I do I see immediately that I'm in the wrong room. The light reflects off the huge crystal chandelier and the silver cutlery already set out for tomorrow's breakfast, the crystal glasses and the ornate picture frames decorating the walls. I seem to have ended up in the dining room.

Cursing my own stupidity, I am about to leave again when I see movement in one corner of the room. A small group of armchair is clustered around a glass coffee table, laden with a steaming jug and several golden beakers. From this corner, a figure has just risen and is making it's way over.

I stop taken aback as I recognise the District Eight escort. _Lucanus_, I remind myself. Y_ou need his help to win sponsors. Try and be nice to him, even if he is from the Capitol. _I plaster a fake smile on my face, that doesn't reach my eyes. "I didn't expect anyone to be here, I'm sorry, I'll go", I say, trying to make myself sound friendly. I can't figure out what on earth he's doing, sitting in here in the dark. But then again, Capitolites are all weird.

He smiles at me and I'm fairly sure his smile is more genuine than mine. "Lacy. I thought you would be asleep. Please, join me." He gestures to the armchairs and I can't see how to get out of sitting with him without looking rude, so I follow him over and take a seat.

As I sit down he pours me out a drink and hands it to me. It's not a drink I'm familiar with, warm, thick, creamy and tasting of rich plums. It's nice so I take another sip and study him over the rim of the mug. He is tall, at least a few inches taller than me, and narrow, but not the sort of thin you usually expect from citizens of the Capitol. He looks naturally willowy, rather than dieted to a skeleton. His eyes are a bright blue in a clever face, framed by thick black curls and as he sits down I notice he has elegant hands with long, clever fingers. Close up, he is pretty much the opposite of what I expect from Capitolites. If he has had any sort of surgery, the surgeon must be a genius because I can't see a trace of it. His clothes are clearly very expensive but not gaudy, a simple charcoal grey suit with purple tie and silver cufflinks. This man doesn't look like he comes from the Capitol at all. More like the mayor of one of the richer districts. To hide my confusion, I take another sip of my drink and try and think of something to say.

"Have you finished assessing me yet?" he asks before I have a chance to say anything, a playful twinkle in his eye. I swear he knows exactly what I was thinking and seems amused by it. "And? Do I pass muster?"

It feels rather like he is laughing at my ignorance about people in the Capitol and it immediately gets my back up. There is no point denying that I was staring at him, so I snap waspishly: "You don't look like the usual escorts, that's all." I want to add that I don't care about him at all and am only sitting here to be polite, but I bite my tongue and grab the jug to top up my drink.

Lucanus laughs and again I feel a prickling anger, like he's laughing at me, even though I don't think he is. "Not everyone in the Capitol does, you know. Just the majority."

I shrug and ignore him, turning to stare out of the dining room window. I can't think of anything polite to say to this man. He voluntarily works as a Hunger Games escort, pulling the names of kids who are going to be sent to their deaths. He is the one who choses. Yes, he doesn't know who he's picking but he picks the piece of paper, which means he choses the innocent kids who are sentenced to death. The thought makes me feel physically sick and I wish I hadn't drunk so much of the sweet liquid. It's churning in my stomach and it's all I can do to not vomit all over him.

The whole idea of the Games is morally wrong and he's here of his own free will, working to make sure the Games can take place. Logically, I know that if he didn't do this someone else would, but the fact he chose this job of his own free will makes me angry. So this is all some stupid game to him? All it means is he gets status and power and fame and that's all he cares about. He's a Hunger Games escort, how the other Capitolites must admire him. My impending death clearly doesn't even weigh slightly on his conscience. He's the one who's fault it is that Patch and I are in this situation in the first place and he has the nerve to just sit here and try and talk to me, like there's nothing amiss. I grind my teeth furiously and try and stop myself from snapping angrily at him to leave me alone.

"You don't like me very much, do you?", his voice interrupts my thought. He has raised an eyebrow at me and is smiling pleasantly.

I shake my head. "Why should I?", I ask sourly, turning away so he can't see the anger in my eyes. _So much for being polite to him, _I chide myself. _You were supposed to be being nice and getting him to like you. _

Lucanus laughs softly. "I didn't say you should like me, just that you don't."

I turn to glare at him, way beyond being able to hide the hostility in my gaze. "Of course I don't like you," I snap furiously. "I hate you. It's your fault I'm here and am probably going to die, it's your fault my little brother is probably going to die. So why on earth would I like you?" I clamp my teeth shut and bite my tongue to stop myself from saying any more. I have probably just made my chances of getting out of the Games alive shrink to basically nonexistent, and by proxy Patch's chances as well. Now our escort will hate me and tell all the sponsors not to sponsor us.

"I can see why you might feel like that," Lucanus says solemnly and takes a drink from his mug, before setting it down on the table in front of him with a gentle chink. "But you do realise it's complete nonsense, don't you? Yes, I chose the paper with your name on it but it's not my fault that any name had to be chosen in the first place."

I blink, surprised. That's the closest I've ever heard anyone from the Capitol come to criticising the Hunger Games. To cover my confusion I pick at the sleeves of my dressing gown and look away. He still chose to be an escort. He wanted this job. He's just as bad as the rest of them.

When I speak my voice is snide and unfriendly. He's from the Capitol. He's not nice, he's just like the rest of them. "You don't know anything. People in the Capitol see the Games as some sort of fun sporting event, but how would you like it if they were your children? You say how terrible and how tragic the deaths in the arena are but you don't really care. It's all a game to you. You aren't the ones who lose two of their kids every year. You talk about tragedy, but you don't care about the families, the friends of the people who die. What do you think happens to them? How do you think it feels to have your loved ones murdered on national television? All you care about is the entertainment value of watching your stupid little TV show!" I find I am breathing quite hard by the time I have finished this speech and my hands hurt from clenching them around the arms of my chair, nails digging into the soft fabric.

Lucanus doesn't answer for a second, then he slowly looks up at me. "There you go, generalising again," he says softly. His voice has a dangerous edge to it and his eyes are flashing. A cold shiver runs down my spine and despite myself I move back slightly in my chair. I get the distinct feeling Lucanus is not the sort of man you would want as an enemy. "You know you are either a very brave girl or a very stupid one, I'm not sure which."

I am outraged. Some jumped-up, superficial, brainless Capitolite calling me stupid? "Are you calling me stupid?", I half-shout, jumping furiously to my feet. My hands are balled into fists and I can feel the tendons standing out in my neck and arms. For a heartbeat a tense silence fills the room.

Suddenly our escort is his usual self again. He's smiling and his eyes are twinkling with laughter again. He reaches out and pours me another glass of the warm drink and gestures for me to sit down again. I stay standing, glaring down at him but he just shrugs casually and leans back in his seat. "Not at all," he says. "I don't know you well enough to judge. I was merely observing that what you were just saying could be seen to be rather, shall we say, reckless." He glances up at me. "Do you always say what you think?"

I nod once curtly. "Of course I do. The Games are wrong. Someone has to stand up for what's right." I look down and sneer at him. "Not that you'd understand."

Lucanus shakes his head and I can hear him laughing again. "You should learn to not judge people by their appearances, it might always help you. Try being less judgmental and closed-minded."

The chair scrapes over the wooden floor as I shove it roughly out of the way. The last thing I need is advice from someone like him. "Leave me alone," I snarl and stalk past the dining table and back towards the door. It'll probably be time to get up soon and I don't see the point in wasting any more time here. He's not worth it. I've wasted enough of the short life I have left talking to him.

As I reach out to grab the door handle Lucanus calls softly: "Oh and Lacy?"

I turn around, despite myself, and glare at him, raising one eyebrow in what I hope is a scathing glare. "Yes?"

"Don't worry, as you pointed out you will probably be dead soon so I will naturally respect your wishes and leave you alone. It's the least I can do," he says. He is smiling but there is a sarcastic gleam in his eyes and this time I am sure he is making fun of me. "Just make sure you're not late for breakfast, you'd hate to miss it with no one to wake you up."

I whirl around and slam the door behind me as I storm back into the corridor. He won't help me? Fine! I don't need him, Patch and I will be just fine on our own! I'll show him!

* * *

><p><strong>Patch Polka, District Eight<strong>

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><p>The sun is only just beginning to show through the low clouds that cover the horizon when I wake up. It's early morning rays stain the room a beautiful pink and gold and make everything shine. The colour is amazing. I wish I could somehow capture it and weave it into fabric. Cashmere, my girlfriend, would love it and it would look amazing on her. The thought of her makes me smile sadly. Will I ever see her again? I shake my head, angry with myself. Don't think about that, try to stay positive. The most likely way to get yourself killed is by dwelling on things like that. Then you lose concentration and you die.<p>

I get out of bed and as I head through to the bathroom I realise that the train has stopped. We are no longer moving. That's odd, I thought we were heading straight to the Capitol. Why have we stopped? I rush to the window and peer out.

For miles around the train there is no sign of human life to be seen. No buildings, no people, nothing. It's so different to what I'm used to, the crowds and factories. The sun is just starting to illuminate the rocky ground outside and the surrounding fir trees still cast long, cool shadows that reach almost right to the train. In the distance I can see mountains rising high above the treetops. Snow covers the peaks and they glow almost painfully in the bright, early morning light. It is so beautiful that I just stand at the window, looking out, wishing I could be outside exploring. Not that I'd be allowed to leave the train, wouldn't want the tributes to run off now, would we.

Suddenly no longer in the mood to look at the scenery, I turn away from the window. I decide I will get dressed and then go and find something to eat. It seems like a good idea to me and as nobody has come to tell me what's going on I don't see why I shouldn't do what I want. Hastily I pull on a neat shirt and dark trousers. I'm not stupid, I want to look decent when I arrive in the Capitol. First impressions are everything when it comes to the Games. So often you see kids who don't care about their appearance, who think it doesn't count for anything. They always pay for their casual attitude in the end with a lack of sponsors, unless they're amazingly talented obviously. The people in the Capitol are nothing if not shallow.

Then I make my own way down the corridor and into the dinning room, without bothering to wait for the escort who I think is meant to collect us. It's deserted, but the table is already covered in dishes and plates. It's the most amazing selection of food I've ever seen. There is everything you could ever wish for, at least I think so, fruit, bread rolls, toast, yoghurt, about ten different jams, pancakes, eggs. I don't know where to start, it all looks mouthwatering.

Slowly I cross the room and sit down at the table. I'm not really sure if I'm allowed to be doing this. Are tributes supposed to just help themselves to stuff? Are we even allowed to be wandering around on our own? I'm not sure we are, but frankly I don't really care. I'm hungry so I'm going to have breakfast. I grab the dish nearest to me and help myself to a large serving of yoghurt with chunks of fresh fruit in it. It tastes amazing.

By the time any of the others show up I've eaten two bowls of yoghurt, some buttered toast and am just starting on a stack of pancakes. The first person to arrive is Cecelia, yawning and rubbing her eyes sleepily. She looks surprised to see me already up. "Good morning," she says and her voice is warm and friendly.

"Morning," I reply politely and turn my attention back to my food.

"Did you sleep alright?", Cecelia asks, helping herself to the seat beside mine, "I found it very hard when I was a tribute. The movement of the train made me feel quite sick." She takes a roll from the basket on the table and smiles at me.

Why can't she just leave me to eat in peace? I am not very comfortable with smalltalk. "I slept fine thanks." I do my best to subtly make it clear to her, with my tone of voice, that I would rather not chat, but she doesn't seem to pick up on the hint. Typical.

She just continues talking brightly. "I was so worried and frightened that even after the train ride I found I just couldn't sleep. It must be so much worse for you. I mean, you have your sister to worry about too. I can't imagine how you must be feeling." She pauses to spread jam on her roll. Does she expect me to tell her how I'm feeling? Well, that's not going to happen.

I take a bite of pancake and then pour myself some fresh tea. The best thing to do is just act as if I think she doesn't expect an answer. Then she might drop the subject. There is no way I am sharing my thoughts with her, however nice she is trying to be.

"The Quarter Quell announcement was just so horrible. I was so upset when I heard about it. It's just not fair on the family of the two tributes. Your family must be devastated." Cecelia sounds genuinely so upset that I can't help feeling a little bad for her. She has a family, so she is probably imagining how she would feel in my parent's situation. That still doesn't mean she knows anything about me though. Just leave me alone, I don't want to talk about this. Isn't it bad enough that Lacy and I are here, without discussing it?

Looking for some way to change the subject to something less personal I glance out of the window and remember my confusion at the train being stationary. Seems like as good a thing as any to talk about. I turn back to Cecelia. "I was wondering when I got up this morning, why has the train stopped? I thought we went straight to the Capitol."

Distracted, Cecelia glances out of the window too. "We are just outside the Capitol. We wait here overnight. Then we go through the tunnel and arrive in the Capitol after breakfast." She takes a bite of her roll.

"Why?", I ask, genuinely curious this time.

"Oh, it's so all the tributes arrive on the same day," Cecelia tells me, "It's better for the Capitol fans. They can see multiple tributes without having to make the effort to go to the station twice." I almost think I can detect a sour, critical note in her voice. Then she smiles again and the moment's gone. "Try this." She holds out a jug of something red that smells fruity. "It's got strawberries, cranberries, raspberries and apple in it. It's delicious." Sounds foul. I hate raspberries. We had them once at home and they made me feel sick.

At that moment the door opens and the escort, Lucanus, comes in, followed closely by Woof, saving me from having to try the revolting juice. Thank goodness for that. Woof takes a seed-covered roll off the table and goes to sit by the window to eat it, muttering to himself. Somehow I get the feeling he's not going to be much help in the arena. Poor guy looks too old to still be a mentor. They should really let him retire.

Lucanus helps himself to the chair beside me and pulls a dish a scrambled egg towards himself. "Good morning," he says pleasantly as he dishes himself some food, "The train should set off again within the hour, so we'll be in the Capitol soon."

I nod. Then I notice that Lacy isn't here. Surely the escort is supposed to wake her. If she doesn't hurry up she won't get anything to eat. "Where's Lacy?", I ask Lucanus, who has just started eating, "Is she coming?"

He shrugs indifferently and eats another forkful of his eggs. "I spoke to her last night. She said she didn't want my help, so I didn't want to wake her."

"But she'll miss breakfast," I point out, annoyed on Lacy's behalf, "And it is your job to help her."

The escort doesn't seem that bothered about the idea of Lacy going hungry. He just calmly carries on eating. "She didn't want help," he repeats between mouthfuls and shrugs again, "Not my problem if she's late."

He's being a bit odd, isn't he, I wonder. Did Lacy say something to upset him? That would be typical of her. She never did think before speaking or know how to hide her emotions. And everyone who knows her knows how much she hates the Capitol. That's what this is about, isn't it? Please just say she wasn't too rude to Lucanus. We need him to help us win sponsors.

I get to my feet. "I'll go and wake her up. I'm sure she'll regret it later if she doesn't get some food now." As I leave the room I think I see Lucanus smirking. Does he find this funny? I grind my teeth in annoyance, but there's nothing I can do about it. We're stuck with him, so I'd better try and be nice, even if Lacy won't.

Outside Lacy's room I stop and knock loudly on the door. "Lacy?", I call, "Are you up yet? You're missing breakfast!" For a minute there is no sound from inside, then the door opens and my sister appears. She is wrapped in a dressing gown and her hair is messy, like she has just rolled out of bed.

"Oh, Patch, it's you. What's up?" She grins at me and runs her fingers through her hair in an attempt to smooth it out again.

"I thought you'd be hungry. You're missing breakfast." At that moment I feel the floor vibrate under me and the train begins to move again. I see trees and rocks flashing past the window as we gather speed. "We're moving," I say, looking back at Lacy, "Lucanus said we had an hour."

My sister frowns. "Well, you can't trust anything he says, can you. He is from the _Capitol_ after all." She spits the word 'Capitol' disdainfully. It makes me grin. I'm glad to see Lacy hasn't changed. Being reaped hasn't stopped her from saying exactly what she wants. "Why don't you come in?", Lacy suggests and beckons me into her room, "I'm not hungry anyway and I really don't fancy sitting with the others right now." She steps aside and lets me in, closing the door firmly behind me.

I help myself to a chair by the window. "I think we'll be there very soon," I tell Lacy, "You might want to get dressed. I mean, I know you don't care what they think of you in the Capitol and everything, but showing up in a dressing gown might be a little embarrassing."

"Well, you seem to have made an effort," Lacy notices, gesturing at my smart clothes, "so I'd better do the same. Don't want to let the side down." She walks past me and fishes the first thing that comes to hand out of one of the drawers. "I'll be back in a second." She disappears into the bathroom to get dressed, leaving me on my own.

With nobody to talk to my thoughts turn to home and my family and friends. I wonder what they will be doing right now. My parents will be at work. There's no way they'd be given time off just because their children have been reaped. They will have to get on with things as normal. My beautiful girlfriend, Cashmere, will probably be at school, as will my friends. The thought of them all makes me feel miserable. If I don't want Lacy to die then I am going to have to accept the fact that I will never see any of them again. I heave a sigh and look out of the window.

The bathroom door bangs open and Lacy reappears. She is wearing a floaty, pale green dress that makes her hazel eyes stand out and look very green. She has twisted her long hair into a loose knot at the back of her neck. I have to say she looks very pretty, even if she does look nothing like the Lacy I know. Normally she wouldn't waste this much time making an effort to look nice. Personally I prefer her how she usually looks in her casual clothes, with her hair tied back in a practical way.

"What do you think? _Capitol_ enough for you?", Lacy asks scathingly. She may look different, but she still sounds the same.

I smirk at her. "Thomas would love it," I tell her, laughing. Thomas is my best friend and he has had a crush on Lacy for ages. She doesn't feel the same way about him. In fact, she thinks the idea of going out with her little brother's friend is a bit embarrassing. That's why I tease her about it.

With a growl Lacy hits me. It doesn't hurt, but I jump away just in case and nearly fall out of my chair. Lacy laughs at me. "That'll teach you," she says, but she is grinning.

Doing my best to look dignified, I straighten up in my chair and smooth down my clothes. "I don't know what you mean," I reply in a fake-snotty voice that reminds me of the Capitol accent. We both laugh and Lacy drops into the chair beside me.

"We must be nearly there," she comments looking out of the window, the good mood suddenly gone. Above us dark, rocky mountains tower up, blocking out the sunlight. They look menacing and uninviting now, not impressive like they did from a distance earlier this morning. Further away I can still see the beautiful green trees and the little streams, but they are getting more and more distant. Lacy takes my hand and we sit in silence, watching the rocky cliffs loom ever nearer.

Rounding a sharp corner the train is suddenly swallowed up by a narrow, dark tunnel and our view of the beautiful scenery is cut off. I sit in silence beside Lacy. Any minute now we will be arriving in the Capitol. Really there is nothing much to say. I wish that if I have to be here Lacy didn't have to be here too and I know she wishes the same thing about me. It won't do any good talking about it.

Just as suddenly as we entered the tunnel we come back out into the bright sunlight. I can feel the train beginning to slow. Lacy and I stay sat where we are. We are not tourists, come here to look at the sights. We are tributes who are going to be killed for the entertainment of the people who live here. I refuse to stare out of the window at this city that I never wanted to see in the first place. Who wants to look at the screaming, waving crowd who very soon will be cheering on the other tributes who want to kill us? Yes, we do need sponsors, but I doubt it will make a difference whether we were stood at the window as the train pulled in or not. Plenty of time to be charming later.

The train finally comes to a halt and the doors slide noiselessly open. We have arrived in the Capitol.


	12. District 9 Remake Centre

**Author's Note: Thanks to UltimateMaxmericaShipper for Fox and youngpatriot for Chrissy ;)**

**In case anyone was wondering, there was a last minute name change, which is why Fox is now called Fox ;D**

**That's about it, hope you enjoy the chapter ;P**

* * *

><p><strong>Fox Hensley, District Nine<strong>

* * *

><p>There are people everywhere, crowding onto the platform, lining the streets outside, leaning out of upstairs windows of nearby buildings. Coming from a small town in District Nine I have never seen a crowd like this. Even the reaping wasn't quite so... daunting. I feel the palms of my hands beginning to sweat. Am I actually going to have to get off the train? Can't they do something about the crowd first, I don't know, make them go away or something. I don't want to do this any more. I want to stay here where I'm safe or, even better, I'd like to go back to Nine.<p>

Behind me the door slides open and I hear footsteps crossing the room. "Fox?" It's Chrissy, my cousin and the reason I'm here. It's her stupid fault I'm in this mess. What did she have to go and get reaped for? I won't talk to her. She can't make me. "Fox, are you ok? We have to go now." Go away. Can't you see I don't like you? "Come on." She's smiling at me and trying to take my hand. Yuck, how disgusting. It's like I'm some sort of little kid or something.

I snatch my hand away from her. "I can walk by myself," I say coldly and brush past her, nose in the air. I think, out of the corner of my eye, I see her rolling her eyes at me. Who cares? I don't need her to like me anyway.

Xana, our escort, is waiting for us in the corridor. Fortunately there is no sign of those horrible, scruffy mentors anywhere. They actually showed up to the reaping in jeans. I mean, does nobody round here know how to dress properly? Would it have killed them to wear a shirt or a blouse? And I won't even go into their standard of conversation. The thought alone makes me shudder. Clearly they just didn't have the kind of upbringing and education I had.

"So, we will go to the Remake Centre now and your stylists will get you ready for the Tribute Parade," the escort tells us in her irritating twittery voice, "Won't that be such a treat." She beams at us. Clearly she has a different idea of what constitutes fun. Sitting still all day while some freak from the Capitol tries to change the way I look. No thank you. I am perfectly capable of dressing myself. What do they take me for?

At that moment the door of the train slides soundlessly open and I am deafened by a roar of noise. People surge forwards to get a better look at me, cameras flash in my face, film crews push each other out of the way to get the best shot of me standing in the train. Chrissy has come to stand beside me and is waving and smiling, but I don't even care that she is stealing my limelight. I can't breathe, my hands are sweating, my legs feel like jelly. Go away, go away, go away! Leave me alone! I can't see past the throng in front of me. I want to go home! Why am I here? They can't make me stay here, I demand to go home now! Don't they know who I am? I'm top of my class, my father is head peacekeeper.

"Come along, children," a voice says somewhere behind me. It sounds very faint and distant. I can barely hear it over the rushing in my ears. A hand gasps my shoulder tightly, when I don't move, and I can feel sharp nails digging into the skin, bringing me back to reality.

I shriek and jump away from the escort, twisting to free myself from her hold. "Get your hands off me, you're hurting me! How dare you! I'll tell my father about you," I threaten. People around us are staring at us and nudging each other, sniggering. "What do you all find so funny?", I round on them, outraged, "Don't you know who I am? I'll report all of you for mistreating me! You won't get away with this! You'll regret laughing at me when I'm a Victor! Then you'll have to do as I say."

My eyes fill with furious tears and I march through the throng, to the waiting car, without bothering to see if Chrissy or Xana are following. Frankly, I don't ever want to see either of them again. I can't believe I am stuck with them until the Games. Maybe I can ask for different rooms. Surely nobody could expect me to put up with my ghastly cousin, that horrible escort and those awful mentors. The thought makes me feel slightly better. I'll ask as soon as we reach the Remake Centre.

A few seconds later Chrissy and Xana climb into the car and a peacekeeper slams the door behind them, cutting off the noise from outside. Nobody speaks. The engine starts up with a hum and we pull away from the station and the crowd, who are still staring after us.

After a few minutes of driving in silence Chrissy leans forward to get a closer look at me. "You're a bit pale. Are you ok?" As if you care. It's all your fault I'm here in the first place. "Xana, do you have any water? Fox looks like he needs a drink." Trying to make me look weak now, are you? Well, I'll show you.

"I'm fine," I inform her loftily and straighten up, "Got an iron constitution. You must be imagining things." I turn away from the other two and look out of the window instead.

We spend the rest of the journey across the Capitol in silence. As if I am going to talk to my cousin and that tedious escort. It was bad enough being stuck with them both on a train. All they ever did was talk about the Hunger Games. You'd think they'd never heard of intelligent conversation. I was bored to tears. Clearly they suffer from a lack of intellect. They're the kind of people I wouldn't give the time of day to back home.

After just ten minutes of driving the car pulls up in front of a tall building, made of rose-coloured stone and a peacekeeper leaps forward to open the door for me. Finally, a bit of respect. I acknowledge him with a slight nod as I get out of the vehicle.

"This way," Xana trills and totters off on her ridiculous high-heels. I'm surprised she can walk in them. At home footwear like that would never be tolerated, it's too unprofessional. My father would have it confiscated immediately. Once a woman, a peacekeeper, actually arrived at work in heels. Of course she was sacked on the spot and a good thing too. The peacekeepers should set an example for the less educated in the district, the _poor _people. I'd love to see somebody sack Xana. It would serve her right. When I'm a victor I will arrange it.

We go through the double doors and down a long corridor with hundreds of doors opening off it. Ahead of us another set of tributes are just being ushered into a room on the left. I briefly get a glimpse of a boy, about my age, with untidy hair that sticks up from his head and a slim, older girl with black hair. So they are the competition? They don't look too scary. The boy is clearly some scruffy urchin, with hair like that, and the girl looks underfed. Clearly they won't have the strategic thinking skills I have gained with my superior education if they are poor. I feel much better about my chances.

"District Three," Xana tells us when she notices me looking. I turn away from her indifferently, not bothering to answer. Chrissy, on the other hand, starts talking about how nice they both looked. I tune out her voice, something I have become very good at over the past 24 hours. What does she know anyway? She would think they look friendly, coming from her inferior background.

We carry on down the corridor and eventually come to a plain white door. "Fox, you go in here," Xana says and without waiting to see if I do she walks off with Chrissy. I am left stood on my own, glowering at the door in front of me. Why should I go in? It's Xana's job to make sure I am in the right place at the right time and she has just abandoned me. If I wander off now she'll get into trouble for loosing me. Then she'll be sorry for not being nicer to me. I turn to leave, not caring where exactly I am going.

I have only taken a few steps when a female voice calls, "You must be the tribute from District Nine. What's your name?" Turning round I am confronted with the most ludicrous-looking woman I have ever seen. She is very small, tiny in fact, and as skinny as the ratty, starving children I sometimes see begging outside my house back in Nine. Her long hair graduates from a garish bubblegum pink to a deep plum colour and hangs either side of her narrow face in tight ringlets. Her violet eyes look huge in her tiny face and are framed by the longest eyelashes I have ever seen, at least two inches. She is dressed in a floaty, navy dress, covered in hundreds of sparkling crystals and has matching inch-long glittering fingernails.

Horrified I lean away from the woman. She is revolting. Surely I'm not expected to go near her, am I? I look around, but there is no one here to help me. Guess I'm going to have to make the most of this situation. If I can endure the train ride with Chrissy and those mentors then I'm sure I will be more than capable of dealing with this woman. Once again, I am going to have to put my feelings aside and self-sacrificingly do what is required of me. I sigh internally. "Yes. I am from District Nine," I say in a superior tone, "my name is Fox Harvest Hensley. My father is the head peacekeeper, you know."

She looks suitably impressed. At last, somebody who recognises the importance of coming from a good family. In that case, I will even be prepared to overlook the fact she looks like a freak. "Hello, Fox," she giggles, "I'm Annia. My colleagues and I work with your stylist to make you look amazing. Come in and meet Noki and Justus." Grabbing my hand in her creepy talons she drags me inside. Behind us the door falls shut with a very final-sounding snap.

Inside the room is very sterile and white. There is a chair in the middle of the room and the walls are lined with cupboards. Two young men are waiting for us, leaning against the opposite wall. They both smile at me when I come in. One of them is dressed all in black, has very tanned skin, red eyes and spiky, midnight blue hair. The other is very tall, thin and pale with shoulder-length white hair and pale, ice blue eyes. Instantly I begin to sweat again. Particularly the second man makes me feel suddenly really nervous. I don't want him coming near me. At home I would never have to speak to people I didn't want to. This is an outrage! Just wait until my parents find out about this.

"This is Fox," Annia announces cheerfully, "He's from District Nine." Surely they already knew which district they were going to get. Where else would I be from? Really, people can be so stupid sometimes. "This is Justus" - she gestures at the man with blue hair - "and this is Noki"- the pale man.

"Sit down here," Justus instructs me and Annia pushes me down into the chair in the middle of the room. How dare she! Did she actually just push me? See what I have to put up with! It's lucky I'm not the complaining type.

Noki comes towards me holding a comb and scissors. "Are we starting with his hair first?", he asks the other two. Hang on a minute, what does he mean 'starting with his hair'?! What are they going to do to my hair? I like my hair. I don't want to change it. It's worked just fine for me for the past twelve years.

"Good idea," Annia agrees and grins at me, "We'll need to wash it first, then we can trim it." What?! Is she now criticizing my personal hygiene? Does she think I don't wash or something? These people have absolutely no idea what they are talking about. There is nothing wrong with my hair. Great, I've been dumped with a group of complete idiots. I really must remember to complain about them when I next see Xana. I know she's useless, but even she can surely manage to get me a different prep team. These ones are a disgrace.

Determined to suffer in silence I sit patiently while they wash and cut my hair. If I was anybody else I wouldn't put up with this. I'd be complaining and refusing to cooperate. I bet they don't even know how fortunate they are that I am prepared to restrain myself, just to make their job easier. Not everybody is that considerate and would ignore their own wishes about their hair. Also I have been very forgiving of their inane banter. Do they never shut up? I mean, can Annia really care that much about the new shoes her neighbour has got? Never mind, I will rise above this mundane gossip.

Once they have finished my hair they survey me critically from all angles. "Much better," Noki pronounces. Nobody even bothers to show me or ask for my opinion. Sulkily I stick my lip out and fold my arms. If they're not even going to have the decency to pretend to care what I think then I don't think I'm going to be as cooperative as I have been so far. They don't deserve it.

"Waxing next?", Justus suggests, going over to rummage through one of the many cupboards, "then his teeth?" The other two are both nodding in agreement but I am furious. They are so offensive! Waxing! What do I need waxing? It's for girls. My mother waxes her legs and stuff. I definitely won't stand for this.

I jump to my feet. "You are not waxing anything," I say haughtily, "I don't permit it." I glare at the prep team, daring them to try and do anything to me. Noki raises an eyebrow at Justus and Annia giggles. None of them are taking me seriously enough. I scowl at them. "I am being serious, you know. I think your behaviour towards me is appalling and I will be complaining about it at the earliest opportunity." There, that scared them. They might loose their jobs over this. I feel very smug at the thought.

"Is he threatening us?", Noki asks, looking between his two colleagues.

"That's just so cute," Annia shrieks delightedly and giggles again, "He's such a darling. That's the spirit for the arena."

Justus shrugs and puts down the pot he has just got out of the cupboard. "If he doesn't want us to do anything else to him, maybe we should leave him to it. After all his teeth aren't too stained and he's not one of the ghastly, smelly tributes who look like they have never had a wash. I for one have no intention of getting bitten again this year." My eyebrows go up in shock. Somebody bit their prep team? Savages.

"I agree." Annia nods enthusiastically. "He looks sweet the way he is and he doesn't smell at all." Of course I don't smell! I won the school hygiene award twice in a row, actually. And anyway, why are they talking about me as if I'm not here? That's very bad manners. Something else for me to tell Xana about when I next see her. Or maybe I should talk to my stylist. Perhaps he or she can get rid of the insufferable prep team.

"Come on, then." Noki crosses the room and opens the door. "If we hurry we will have time to get some coffee."

"Bye, Fox," Annia calls over her shoulder from the doorway, "We'll be back later to do your make-up for you." Make-up? What make-up? If they think they are getting me to wear that stuff then they are sorely mistaken. I cross my arms and let myself sink back into the chair. Just wait until I am the Victor, then they'll all be sorry.

* * *

><p><strong>Chrysanthemum Rice, District Nine<strong>

* * *

><p>It feels like I have been sat here for hours and my face is hurting from all the smiling. My jaw seized up ages ago and my face feels like it's frozen into a manic grimace. Even now my prep team have finally left the room I can't seem to stop. I massage my painful jaw and try and make sense of what's happened to me since I left the train.<p>

I'm a tom-boy really and all this beauty stuff is ridiculously far out of my comfort zone, so I don't even know what some of the stuff they did to me was. I remember having my teeth scrubbed with a foul-tasting gel that stung my gums and made me cough. Then there was the bath where it honestly felt like they took most of my skin off, and they practically scalped me brushing out my hair and the strange goo they spread all over me and then pulled off again. That really hurt. And they plucked my eyebrows so I feel like I must have absolutely no eyebrows left. They did loads more stuff, like trimming and shaping my nails, but I can't remember most of it. I sort of lost track after the first few hours.

My thought turn to my prep team. They seem completely hyperactive. People at home think I'm silly and hyper but I have nothing on these people. Aloisia is in charge, I think. She is really tall and broad with red curls reaching almost to her knees and huge baby blue eyes, surrounded in green swirls tattooed onto her face. She is wearing some sort of ridiculous kind of short tunic with a silver breastplate over it, silver greaves and arm-guards and has a silver crown braided into her hair. Apparently she's a huge fan of the Games and is wearing a 'warrior outfit' to honour the Games, or so Cambria told me.

Cambria is the exact opposite of Aloisia. She's tiny, head and shoulders smaller than me and I'm small for my age. She looks almost normal except for the fact she's completely purple from head to foot – hair, eyes, skin, everything – and her eyelashes are literally about a foot long. When she opens her eyes they actually curl up to meet her hair. I just couldn't stop staring at her.

Lupa is probably the most terrifying of all. Her teeth have been sharpened to fangs and her eyes are yellow – completely yellow, no whites, just yellow with tiny black pupils. She has a shaggy mane of grey-brown hair and her ears have been altered so they are pointed on top. Even her face looks more like a muzzle than a face, it looks strangely elongated and pointed. Her hands have claws instead of finger nails. While she was ripping out my eyebrows she told me she had based her look on her namesake – a wolf. I would never have guessed.

Quite frankly, thinking about my prep team, I'm quite scared that they are the ones deciding how I look. They think their own styles look beautiful, so if they say they want to make me look stunning what does that mean? Honestly, I'm quite worried I'm going to end up with a green face or bat's ears or something.

To try and take my mind off it, I get up and wander around the room looking for a robe or something. When I first came in here Lupa took my clothes away and I haven't seen them since. Now I feel rather cold and vulnerable, stood by myself in this big empty room. I wish I had something to wear. A towel would do. As if this situation isn't unfair enough without being forced to stand around naked for hours.

At that moment the door behind me opens and my prep team come in again. I turn to greet them and force my face back into a delighted smile. They all look very excited, apart from Lupa who I'm not sure is capable of showing any emotion. Cambria announces dramatically: "Chrissy, darling, you have the _extreme good fortune _of being styled by the one and only..." She lowers her voice dramatically and I can see her eyes glittering with genuine excitement. "...Tacita Terra!" She steps to one side to reveal a slightly bizarre-looking woman.

Her face is as white as snow and she has a pair of huge black eyes. Her hair is black as well and hangs in heavy curtains either side of her narrow face. What really makes me stare at her though is her mouth. Her lips are as black as her hair and somehow I get the impression it's not lipstick, they look like they have been dyed that colour. Red lines crisscross her mouth and I takes me a second to realise they are stitches sewing her lips shut. I recoil in horror, the smile slipping off my face. My stylist is probably the scariest looking person I have ever seen. Who would do that to themselves? Why...?

I don't have much time to brood on it however because she crosses the room and grasps my hand firmly. Her hands are warm and soft and it seems strange that they belong to such a terrifying woman. Close up the stitches look even more horrible and I'm sure they're not for medical reasons. The thread is crimson with gold strands – I can't imagine any doctor ever using it.

Aloisia comes over and pats me on the shoulder, noticing my horrified expression. "There, there, duckie", she coos. "I know this is all a bit strange, people in the districts don't know how to style themselves properly but it's perfectly normal here." She turns to Tacita and whispers in an over-dramatically loud voice: "Poor dear. I think she's a bit overwhelmed by everything."

Tacita nods understandingly and to my immense horror envelops me in a tight hug. I don't know what to do and feel extremely uncomfortable so I smile and hug her back. This is something they don't warn you about the Hunger Games. No one warns you that you will end up standing naked in a room full of people being hugged by the creepiest person on the planet. When she lets go of me I manage a genuine smile, I think it's relief.

"Tacita doesn't speak", Cambria tells me happily as she gently pushes me back into the chair in the centre of the room. "She finds that it interrupts the creative vibes. It's her trademark." She smiles proudly at my stylist. "We're so lucky to be working with her."

I beam up at her. "Is she very famous?", I ask innocently. I've found the best way to deal with my prep team is to ask lots of questions and pretend to be delighted to be here. They seem to expect me to be excited. I can't think why I would be. Terrified, unhappy, angry? Yes. Excited? No.

"Oh very!", Lupa whispers conspiratorially in my ear. "She's been working as the stylist for District Nine for years. She's simply the best!" Behind her Tacita is rummaging around in one of the cupboards and doesn't seem to be listening to us.

I let out an excited squeal of delight. At least that's what I hope it sounds like. "She designed last year's costumes? They were so beautiful! Will I get one like that?" I clap my hands excitedly and crane my neck to try and see what Tacita is doing.

Cambria laughs. "Not just like that, Chrissy darling. Yours is even more stunning, wait and see!" She winks at me behind Tacita's back as the stylist crosses the room and gently pulls me to my feet.

I try and look round to see what she is doing but Tacita smiles and gently slaps my shoulder to make me stand straight again. She seems to be taking some measurements or something because I feel a cold tape measure wrap around my waist. Then she's nodding as if satisfied and handing me some underwear to put on. Quite relieved, I pull it on as quickly as possible. Even the underwear here feels luxurious and I get the feeling it's probably worth more than my entire wardrobe at home put together.

"Stay there Chrissy," Aloisia tells me. "Tacita just has to fetch your dress then we'll do your hair and make-up for you." I'm not sure where exactly she thinks I would go, so I don't see why she's telling me to stay here but I stand still and wait.

"Have you seen my dress?", I ask curiously. I don't really care what it looks like but I can't exactly tell these people that. They decided to work in fashion, telling them I have no interest in it at all would probably not go down well.

Lupa nods and grins at me, bearing her sharp fangs. "Yes, it's wonderful! It's..."

"Lupa!", Aloisia and Cambria squeal at the same time. "Don't tell her!"

I laugh and bounce up and down a bit on the balls of my feet trying to look impatient and excited. Well, and also because I'm starting to get bored and feel rather caged in and trapped in this small, windowless room.

At that moment the door opens and Tacita comes in carrying a bag which I can only assume contains my dress. She brings it over and carefully lays it out on the chair behind me.

"Don't look, Chrissy!", Cambria instructs as I try to look round. "We want it to be a surprise!"

I try to do as I'm told and not look as they slip the dress on over my head. It feels very soft and very light, in fact I can hardly even feel it at all. I fidget around until Lupa tells me to stand still so they can do my hair.

It takes them a good hour to finish my outfit. First they do something to my hair, then they cover me in a faint dusting of gold powder that apparently make me sparkle slightly, next my make-up and finally Aloisia instructs me to step into a pair of heels I can barely even stand in, let alone walk.

Then my stylist and prep team stand back to admire their work and I can hear their intake of breath. Cambria even has tears in her eyes. "Chrissy, you look stunning," she sniffs, dabbing at her eyes with a sleeve. "Who'd have though you were that scruffy, dirty girl who came in this morning. I bet people wouldn't even recognise you."

"Can I see?", I demand, trying to fake excitement and fight down the anger boiling in the pit of my stomach. That scruffy, dirty girl? I may not be very fashion-conscious but that doesn't make me scruffy and dirty! Does she realise how insulting she's being?

Lupa runs to uncover the full length mirror at the other end of the room and Tacita covers my eyes and guides me over to it, stumbling in my ridiculous shoes. She tuts slightly and I can feel someone tugging my foot up and removing the shoes. Relieved, I realise I'm not going to have to wear them after all.

Tacita uncovers my eyes and I stand and gape at myself in the mirror. Or I gape at someone in the mirror. The girl looking back at me looks nothing like myself. My freckles are gone, hidden under a dusting of gold that makes me look tanned and shimmer slightly when the light is just right. My hair is loose about my shoulders but curly. It somehow looks redder and longer than usual. My hazel eyes seem very green and are surrounded by tiny curling gold patterns.

But it's the dress that really takes my breath away. It seems to be made entirely of corn and sways gently as I move, like wind rippling through a cornfield. The individual stalks vary in length, graduating from left to right, the ones on the left side only reaching my knee, the ones on the right almost touching the floor. The fluffy heads of the corn come to rest where the top of a sleeveless dress would, forming a perfect sweetheart neckline. A thick rope is wrapped around my waist, giving the impression that I am actually a sheaf of corn and the silver sickle tucked into the rope completes the look. It makes me look slim and tall, with long delicate legs. I can't believe my eyes. What have they done to me?

"And?", Cambria demands, bouncing up and down and clutching at Lupa's arm. "What do you think?"

I turn and smile broadly at them. "It's wonderful, thank you so much!" I twirl round a few times staring at my reflection in the mirror. I doubt my family back home will even recognise me I look so different.

The door behind me opens and I can see Xana stood in the doorway, just behind her I can make out Fox but I can't see what he looks like properly or what he's wearing. Xana advances into the room. "Are you ready, Chrissy?", she asks. "It's time."

My prep team let out excited giggles and start hugging each other and talking very fast in very high pitched voices as I follow Xana out of the room. I glance back at them and wave once before following our escort towards the lift. My stomach is full of butterflies and I feel sick. I'm about to see all the other tributes for the first time.


End file.
